Love the Freak in Your Family

We went to see the movie, Lars and the Real Girl, on Tuesday and it was so terrific. The premise of the story is that Lars comes home one day with a girlfriend...a girlfriend that is a sex doll...a girlfriend Lars believes is a real person.

I could relate to this movie because for a few years after college, I lived in the same apartment as my crazy aunt. My father was kind enough to allow his sister to live in one of our apartments in Queens, NY -- so when I returned to New York City, I took over one of the other bedrooms in the apartment. At this point, she had lived in the apartment for years, not paying any rent, hardly ever coming out of her room. She would sit in her room and watch television and she made her money on the stock market. As a child (she talked more to the children in our family than the adults - and once I became an adult...well, you get the picture.), I asked her why she was so interested in the stockmarket, and she actually said:

"I wanted to make money doing something where I didn't have to leave the house...something I could continue doing even into old age."

Too bad for her, there was no INTERNET at the time. Perhaps she could have started an interesting blog, such as, "My Stock Pick of The Day," or "How Many Days Can I Go Without Coming Out of My Room."

It was very strange, living in the same apartment as her and...not interacting with her. Sometimes I tried to talk to her (let's say, when she walked into the kitchen to get a glass of orange juice) but she politely ignored me. After a while, I got used to it, and it just because a part of my everyday existence.

Occasionally,I had friends over, and she would hide in her room the entire time. My friend Gus used to come over a lot, and stay pretty late, too. And one time he said, "You know, I don't believe that you live with anyone. I think you flick that light on in that room so that I can see it under the door, and you've been pretending this whole time."

Once I had a wild party, where we ended up staying up all night and going for breakfast in the morning...a breakfast of beef noodles from the Chinese restaurant down the street -- and not one peep from her. I think everyone was excited about the possibility of her making an appearance.

The movie made me feel that you should just love and accept the freak in your family, because you never know...One day, the freak may be you.

Happy Birthday Rocky!

Today Rocky turned 6 years old -- in dog years, that's 37. When we decided to get Scout, I really wanted a dog and researched a few dozen breeds. We went to several breeders of different dogs, when I finally came to the conclusion that I really, really, really, wanted a yellow Lab.

I had the books, I bought the chew toys, I got the organic dog food, I was PREPARED.

Two years later, Peter and I were walking through the Garden State Plaza mall and I told him I wanted to look at the puppies.

BIG MISTAKE.

DO NOT EVER STOP BY THE PUPPY STORE JUST TO LOOK AT PUPPIES.

Peter saw Rocky, a teeny all-white Siberian Husky, turn around in his little kennel, put his head down and sigh. Peter turned to me and said, "I want that dog."

I asked the girl at the pet store to bring Rocky out. He was so squirmy, he wouldn't stay in my arms for two seconds. The girl came back around to see how we were doing, and Rocky was so excited to see her, he was almost bouncing. He was such a happy dog, and I turned to Peter and said, "I love him sooooooooooooo much!"

Scout was kind of like that planned child, the one that has the name all picked out. The one that gets the freshly painted room even before they're even created. Rocky was like that mistake, the one that happens with an "Ooops! Too much wine!" moment.

As soon as we brought him home, Scout HATED him. She couldn't stand to look at him. She looked at us like we betrayed her. Sort of like, "Why would you DO THIS TO ME! I'm going to my room, and I'm not coming back out until you GET RID of THIS!"

Then we brought him to the dog park, and our friends there were HORRIFIED we got him at a pet store.

"But they told us he was from a breeder," I said, defending myself. And, of course, they all shook their heads at me and told me that it was a lie, and that all good dog-loving people should know this information because, didn't you know? It came in THE HANDBOOK. One of those dog-park-people even told me to return him to the store, and continued to tell me to do this, every time I saw her.

Because Scout hated him, and the dog-park-people hated him, it was a bit difficult for me to bond with him at first. And he kept climbing out of his dog area in the kitchen, so on Valentine's Day, he climbed over this obstacle course in the kitchen I made out of Peter's guitar amps and I had it. I yelled at him, picked him up, and slammed him back down into his puppy area.

Alarmed, Peter grabbed his keys and the dog and said that he was returning him. I ran after him and during the whole ride to the store, I held Rocky in my arms, where he calmly sat, not knowing that a human drama was unfolding.

We sat in the car outside the store for two hours, and every time we thought about bringing him back, it hurt so much inside that we cried (Okay, I cried, wailed and sobbed. Peter kind of had 1.8 tears well up in his eyes). And to top it all off, it was Valentine's Day. I knew that if I returned this dog, I could never celebrate another Valentine's Day ever again.

Finally, we decided to go home and we've been a family ever since.

And Rocky never again tried to escape from his puppy area.

I Was Following You!

I've been taking a belly dancing class on Tuesday nights, and it's been so much fun. Yesterday was election day, so the gym was overtaken by poll machines and our class was held in a different room.

I saw my teacher and we started walking together and chatting. We walk all the way down the hall and she turns to me and says, "Are you sure this is the right way?"

I look at her and say, "I've been following you! I don't know where the class is."



This reminds me of the time I took my sisters and two cousins to the movies. They were all about seven and eight-years-old. After the movie let out, I asked them:

"So, do any of you remember where we parked?"

James, the smallest one, turns to me and he looks like I just told him I ripped up all his beloved Pokemon cards and ran over his best friend. He says:

"I don't know! YOU'RE the ADULT! YOU'RE RESPONSIBLE!!"


I mean, SHE's the TEACHER. She's RESPONSIBLE.

You: Reading This Blog

I went to Borders yesterday, and was struck by how many You books there were:

You: The Owners Manual
You: Staying Young
You: On a Diet
You: On a Walk

Pretty soon those guys are going to run out of ideas, so I have several:

You: At Borders
You: Walking to Your Car
You: Programming Tivo

Now I Hope They Will Stop Cursing at Us

Last year, Peter and I went to Boston, a city we adore. Some of my favorite places are in Boston - I love walking on Newbury Street, The Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum, the Esplanade, The Elephant Walk restaurant, I could go on and on for days.

However, the one thing I hate about Boston is that ridiculous way Bostonians act about the stupid Red Sox.

Peter ALWAYS wears a Yankee hat in the summertime, and someone in every freaking place we walk into has to make the, "Nice hat," comment - as in "Nice hat, you stupid Yankee fan, now I'm going to spit into your soup."

Once we were sitting on a bench at the Museum of Fine Arts and an old guy was mumbling something under his breath. We were sitting there for about five whole minutes before I realized that the guy was saying, "Fucking Yankees...mumble mumble mumble...Yankees."

It's so ridiculous. And the funny thing is that Peter actually likes the Red Sox.

Now that they've won another World Series, I hope that they'll start feeling a bit better about New Yorkers when we visit.

Fabulous Fun

Last week, Peter and I took a ride on the Circle Line. It was a great day, 83 degrees in October!

When we first sat down, Peter turned to me and said, "Wait, this is going all around Manhattan? I've SEEN ALL THIS."

Immediately, a shower of grumpness rained down on me.

Luckily, this only lasted until the boat started to move and we both moved to the bow. The wind was blowing and we were THIS CLOSE to the Statue of Liberty. A ridiculous technicolor rainbow appeared right above Miss Liberty. And then the animated birds came out...

An hour later, Peter called the boat ride, "Fabulous Fun."

I am the Fabulous Fun to his Grumpy Grumperson.

Jake Gyllenhaal = Sam The Eagle

Don't Mess With Our Food

About once a week Peter and I get into a fight about food. Usually someone ate something that had been sitting innocently in the refrigerator for a few days without either one of us thinking that it was a potential time bomb of arguments and pouting.

Today, it was Ben and Jerry's Pistachio Pistachio ice cream.

I had been at Trader Joe's eyeing the ice cream aisle, but since we had a pint of Pistachio Pistachio ice cream in the freezer, I decided to pass and was looking forward to having some of the ice cream we ALREADY HAD IN THE HOUSE instead of buying more ice cream.

Of course, I get home and Peter takes the carton to his office. That's fine, because I saw how much was in there, and I figured I would have some later. A few minutes later, he plops on the chair and says, "Whew! I can't believe I finished it."

"Finished WHAT?" I asked.

When he told me he finished the ice cream, I was SO ANGRY. Which didn't even make sense to Peter because, you know what? I DON'T LIKE PISTACHIOS.

Peter pointed this out to me, but that made me EVEN ANGRIER. I felt that he should have asked me whether I wanted something I had never shown interest in before - at least before he finished it. Is that TOO MUCH to ask?

Why Do We Keep Doing This to Ourselves?

When my sister Judy was little, she used to beg me for peppermint candies I used to keep in my bag. I never really understood this, because she ALWAYS spit them out and said: "I don't LIKE this!"

And of course, I would get annoyed because, you know, one more wasted peppermint candy.

Once, she said: "I don't LIKE this again!"

That pretty much sums up how Peter and I feel about Food in Westchester. I don't know why we keep trying new places. I read an article in the local weekly paper about a restaurant called Lyla's.

We wanted to give it a chance, since the article declared it the best thing EVER.

Suffice it to say, it was terrible. My sandwich was NOT GOOD. How can you mess up a sandwich? Peter's food wasn't very good either. Not only was the food not good, but the place was empty and the counter boy decides he's got to Windex the next table WHILE WE ARE EATING. This ALWAYS pisses me off. I mean, does your mother spray Windex at you while you are eating dinner at home, counter boy? What is WRONG with you?

When we got back in the car, Peter turns to me and says: "Why do we keep doing this?"

And I said: "What? Oh, you mean, why do we keep bashing our heads against the wall, look at another wall, and decide to do the same thing?

Hey, That Would Be Great On a Blog

For the first time in about a year, I had dinner with my friend, Marisol. I thought she was an ex-friend until this exact week, because ever since we moved to Mt. Kisco, she has literally dropped off the face of this earth.

Every time I call her or email her, I get these excuses, like:

"I had to oversee the TimeWarner merger and flew to Dulles, here is the Associated Press article telling you all about it."

"My father had stents put into his heart, so I had to go to California for two weeks."

"The car got crushed by a garbage truck, so I'm having it fixed."

"My nephew had knee surgery and I have to go take care of him."

Forwarding me an article from the Associated Press? I mean, come on. Why don't you just tell me you don't want to be friends anymore?

Anyway, she finally did call me, and we had a really nice dinner. Halfway through the meal, I tell her that I've made a concerted effort to enjoy my time in Northern Westchester, and will no longer complain about the fact that it is not Park Slope, Brooklyn.

"After all," I said. "I want to enjoy the time we're living there, and really explore the positive things."

"That's good," she said. "It's like a blog, 'My Year in Mount Kisco.'"

For a second I almost stopped breathing, because I haven't told her about my blog - in fact, I've only told one friend and my sister about it. I guess I want to see if I can actually keep this up. I don't want to tell someone about my blog and it's only three entries long. That's happened with some of my other friends, and it's difficult to take them seriously after that.

I checked myself and tried to remember if I actually did have a conversation about this blog, but I know I hadn't. So my conclusion?

This must be a great blog idea!

It's a Wonder I'm Still Here

I went home last week to visit my grandmother. She's my mother's mother, the kind woman who left her native homeland half a world away to come take care of me when I was eight-years-old. She was sent here because of a conversation I had with my dad while I was at my babysitter's house.

Dad: Where's Alba?

Me: She went with her son to walk the dog.

Dad: She left you all alone? With your one-year-old sister?

Me: She does this all the time.

Dad: Take Judy and go get her. Tell her I want to talk to her.

Me: I can't.

Dad: What do you mean, you can't?

Me: I can't open the door from the inside, she locked it from the outside.

To his credit, my father remained calm, but later that night, he tore Alba a new one. What if there had been a fire? Do you know HOW DANGEROUS THAT IS?

We never went back.

It was kind of strange, because I used to see Alba's son at the playground all the time, and he would pretend that he didn't know who I was. I would say, "Remember? Your mom used to babysit me and we used to play Atari games in your living room."

He always shook his head and said, "That was someone else. I don't know you."

It really used to mess me up, to a point where I thought, "Maybe I DID make it all up!"

Anyway, when I saw my grandmother, she told me a funny story about me when I was about seven months old.

"I put you on the bed, surrounded you with a comforter, and told you not to climb over it. I made gestures, I hit my head with my hand to show you what would happen if you did, and you nodded at me. And you were so good! You understood and didn't climb over. When my sister came to visit, she said, 'I don't think that's a safe place for her.' And I told her not to worry, because you were so smart!"

The Parking Spot Controversy

Ever since we moved into this condo complex, we've noticed how small the parking spots are and we're constantly getting dinked on the left side, since it's a guest parking spot and there's no specific person to blame for dinks.

The thing is, Peter and I are ultra-sensitive about dinking other cars. Sometimes, I literally have to hold open the door so it doesn't swing open because, of course, the parking lot is on a little bit of a hill, so it's easy for the door to just careen out and dink the next car.

I'm super-nervous about this because our neighbor is CRAZY. Okay, she may not be crazy, but she hates us, and by us, I mean me. I'm a friendly person, so whenever I see her outside, I say, (in a super-cheerful voice), "HI!" She pretends she didn't hear me and continues on her way.

This may have something to do with the fact that right before we moved in, we had painters and carpenters and floor installers fixing up this place. Oh, and our mover's truck whacked into her car bumper trying to get into our parking spot. And yes, one last thing, we have two dogs, and they sometimes decide that 2 a.m. is the ideal time to start wrestling. But I feel that none of these things are reasons to hate your new neighbor.

The other day, Peter said, "I think our spot is smaller than other people's."

Of course, this is exactly the sort of injustice that I WILL get worked up about, so yesterday, I got out the tape measure. Here is the finding:

Parking Spot # -- Width of Parking Spot in inches

13 -- 151
12 -- 103
11 -- 102
10 -- 103
9 -- 102
8 -- 102
7 -- 102
6 -- 102
Guest Spot -- 102
Guest Spot -- 105
Guest Spot -- 94
5 (OUR Spot) -- 93.5
4 -- 115

As you can see, our spot, and the guest spot next to ours is teeny-tiny. Why? Did the parking spot line painters just decide that the people in Apartment #2 just didn't deserve to have a decent sized spot?

We wouldn't have made a stink about it, but there is a substantial difference. Why should spot 13 get a huge palatial parking spot? Their spot is practically double ours. So we've written the management company. Peter doesn't think that they're going to do anything about it, but I'm optimistic that they will.

I guess the problem is that Peter's a realist (I call him a pessimist, but he says it's realist) and I'm an optimist. I always think that people will do the right thing, and then when they don't, I get angry about it. So we'll see. If the management company doesn't do the right thing, I'll probably buy a cheap-o motorcycle and park it in the guest spot next to ours. Permanently.

Is that really spiteful? Will that send me to Parking Karma Hell?

A Strange New Growth

Married people share a lot of things, and one of those things requires having your spouse check out something on your body that you can't really see, and give you their opinion on it.

Many such conversations in our house start out with:

Me: Is that a mosquito bite, or a pimple?

Me: Is that a pimple or an ingrown hair?

Me: Is that an ingrown hair or a tumor?

Whenever I say, "Can you take a look at this?" Peter instantly freezes, pretends he didn't hear me, and walks slowly out of the room. Much the way Rocky, the Siberian Husky, acts when he sees me heading toward him with the doghair brush.

Today Peter said, "I have a bump in my mouth."

Me: So floss!

Peter: I did NOT say I had something in MY TEETH. I SAID I had something in MY MOUTH. I think it's some sort of bump.

So we go into the bathroom where the light is better, and he uses his fingers to hold his upper lips and gets down on bended knee so I can see. And even though he's in this ridiculously precarious position, I crack up and say, "Of course I'll marry you!"

He starts laughing and said, "I was going to say 'Whii yuh mawrrehh meh'?"

When a couple gets married, the priest should really say, "Do you take this person, in sickness and in health, for richer and for poorer, and will you check out any strange new growths that will appear on his body?"

No, Not Pregnant!

Every time I talk to someone I haven't spoken to in awhile, they ask me if I'm pregnant.

The other day, I was telling someone a story, about how my mother is FREAKING Out over the fact that I'm not pregnant yet, and I said:

"The funny thing, is that there's something that happened last month that I haven't told her about..."

Before I could finish my sentence, I heard through the telephone, loud enough to shake the plaster down on the walls of my apartment:

"You GOT PREGNANT!"

After a long pause, I said, "Uhm...NOOOOOOOOOOOO..."

I mean, that doesn't even make any sense. I feel like all people hear from me these days is, "blah blah blah, blah, blah blah blah blah." They're just waiting to hear the "P" word.

Kind of like my dogs, except their magic word is "food."

10 Years!!

September 5th marked the tenth anniversary of the day I first sat down next to Peter and said, "Hi! I like your glasses!"

I heard a report on 20/20 that our bodies regenerate all the cells on our bodies every ten years - at this point, Peter and I are walking around with an entirely new set of cells. So I guess that makes us entirely different people now.

The very first time I met Peter, I was wearing green cargo pants, a nylon neon-orange-and-neon-yellow camouflage tank top, and the extremely ugly Mephisto sandals my mother bought me because the salesperson at Nordstrom told her that they would mold to my feet, which was apparently something he convinced my mother was VERY IMPORTANT.

I know NOW that this is a hideous outfit, but for some reason, I looked at myself in the mirror and went, "I look TERRIFIC!" (Keep in mind, I had just spent a year in Ann Arbor, Michigan. For over there, anything not pre-worn by someone else was high fashion.)

A friend of mine brought me to see a coworker play guitar at a bar/club in the city. He pointed Peter out to me and said, "That's the guy who knows Beck."

At the time, I had just moved back to NYC from Ann Arbor, and I would take the 18-hour train ride every month or so to visit my family. On my portable CD player (remember those, guys?), I listened to Beck's Odelay over and over - my theme song for that summer was "New Pollution." So of course, anyone who knew Beck would be instantly cooler than anyone I had ever met before in my entire life. And boy, I was so right.

Did I Say a Million?

Peter's nephew Tony came over to visit us to print out business cards on our color laser printer that sits in our living room. Yes, in our home, instead of a pretty curio cabinet or a funky side table, we use pieces of computer equipment as decorative items.

So Tony came over with his packet of print-it-yourself business cards and instead of the 200 the box claimed it would print out, we only managed to get about 170 cards due to the falling apart of the business cards in the eventual paper jam.

First we were manually feeding them in, which we felt was a waste of time, so we tried putting one, then two sheets at a time, which worked, at which point I said:

"Hey, why don't you put ALL of them in."


"No," Tony said. "That might piss the printer off."

So we fed three-at-a-time, four-at-a-time and then, since there were only six left, we threw caution to the wind and put them all in - at which point the printer spitefully spat out a mangled last page.

"See," Tony said. "We were pushing our luck."

This took far too long, and I told him about designyourowncard.com, where I printed up my tutoring cards. For the $20 box, he only got 170 cards and I told him that this website will print out 1000 cards for $40.

"That way, you can print out 1000 cards and hand them out to A MILLION people! Uhm, or, you can print out 1000 cards and hand them out to 1000 people.

Camouflage

Peter and I went to Florida this past week and the very first day, I managed to scrape my foot on the bottom of the pool. Luckily, I found a Band-Aid in my bag and put it on.

Later, at the Boma buffet restaurant in the Animal Kingdom Lodge, otherwise known as "The Place Where You Should Put Down Those French Fries and Chicken Fingers and Get Some of That POT ROAST and RIBS and Potatoes with AFRITUDE," Peter looks down at my foot and said:

"Why did you take off your Band-Aid?"

I told him that it was still on and he looked at my foot closely and said:

"Wow. I think you're the first person I've ever known who actually has Band-Aid-colored skin."

I'm Special

I took my sister to get Jamba Juice today and ordered two small juices. She got hers and then when it was my turn, the juice-maker guy handed me a medium size, which is practically double the size that I ordered. I looked at it, then looked at my sister's, then looked at my receipt.

The juice-maker guy smiles at me and says:

I know you ordered the small, but you're special!

When we left the store, Jenny said:

I loved your reaction to that, it was like, "Thanks for noticing!"

Bathroom Conversation

Why are there two tubes of toothpaste in the medicine cabinet?

Because one of them is finished.

Why didn't you throw out the old tube of toothpaste?

I saved it for you.

...why?

You're a squeezer of greater patience and capacity than I am.

A Normal Person

We are going to Florida in about two weeks and we're trying to find a new dog kennel in the area to house the dogs. There are several places near Mt. Kisco, but they all want to charge you two arms and a leg to board. So, during an investigative internet search, I came across this place called Carmel Country Kennels. The price was attractive, but it is about thirty minutes away according to Mapquest. Today, we traveled to Carmel to check it out.

It was sort of a nightmare trip, complete with crazy downpours of rain, arguments with the Garmin (We did not go where she told us to go and for revenge, she picked every non-paved dirt road for us to navigate. Garmina is SUCH a bitch), and about ONE HOUR later, we finally arrive at the kennel.

Peter drives up to what we think is the office, and there's lettering on the door that says HONK YOU CAR HORN. I'm wondering, do we honk? Where's the front desk? Also, he's driven a bit too far in, and the bit of pavement is a bit narrow so he tries to U turn.

A lady appears at the doorway and Peter lowers our windshield to say to her:

"It just took us a solid hour to get here!"

She says in her ratty chain-smoker voice:

"Instead of trying to make a U, why don't you back out LIKE A NORMAL PERSON."

Of course, we are already having reservations about making this terrible drive ever again, the place looked kind of unkempt and now there's this rude lady.

Peter, like a NORMAL PERSON, backs out of the little paved area, drives down the gravel road...all the way home.

Fletch Lives Around Mount Kisco

For the 4th of July, Peter and I invited my parents, my grandmother, and my sisters to our home. We spend every 4th of July with my parents for the simple fact that - for some reason - it's the one day that they close down the restaurant.

It was also the first time I had anyone in my family besides my sister Jenny over at the new place. I was a bit embarrassed because there are cable wires masking taped all over the condo and three huge server machines in the dining room. I almost didn't want them to come over, because I wanted to wait until the place looked perfect.

But the funny thing was that my parents didn't even seem to notice them. It's like when you have a glaring pimple on your forehead, and you are convinced that everyone is grossed out, but when you mention it, they just go, "Oh, I didn't even see it."

For dinner, we went over to La Camelia, a restaurant that is literally around the corner from where we live.

I've been wanting to try it for quite some time, but the last time Peter and I walked over there, it was crazy packed and when I asked them if they had any vegetarian meals, the host said, "Of course, we have vegetarian paella, salmon..."

Right, since salmon is our favorite VEGETABLE. Peter turned tail and ran out of the place.

As it turned out, on July 4th, they did have a couple of vegetarian things and Peter ate and was very happy. The food was really good and everyone had a good time.

Toward the end of the meal, I look up and I see a tall guy and I say to myself, "Wow, that guy looks a lot like Chevy Chase, except he's really old. I mean, he's even wearing a safari vest just like in his movies."

I look over at Peter and he whispers in my ear, "That's Chevy Chase."

I tell him that the guy looks way too old and Peter says, "Chevy Chase IS old."

It was funny, because Chevy Chase walked around the restaurant, scoping out the diners, to see if there would be anyone who would hassle him before letting the waiter show him to a table.

My sister Jenny said, "Well, if he didn't want to be recognized, he shouldn't wear his safari vest, because then he's just ASKING FOR IT."

A Bad News First Person

I bought two seedless watermelons from Costco last week and the other day I opened one up. It was one of those over-ripe ones, no crispness, just a mouthful of what we called in my family, "whoo whoo," which means something that makes your mouth feel like it's full of wet sand.

Two days after the unfortunate watermelon incident, I opened up the other one, which was as sweet as the other one was "whoo whoo."

I told Peter that we should have opened this one first, and he said that would have been worse.

"Because then we would be looking forward to opening up the other watermelon, thinking that it was going to be as good as this one, and we would have been WAY MORE DISAPPOINTED."

The Greatest Movies

Last night Peter and I watched the AFI special on the 100 Greatest Movies of all time. We love shows like this, with film clips and people talking about their favorite movies.

When the list got to 50, Peter suggested that we try to predict the first 50 movies - which is something we like to do. A few weeks ago, while watching a Friends episode where Ross had to name all fifty states, we decided to take on that challenge (and we were almost defeated by IDAHO!!).

We predicted so many movies that were NOT on the list including:

Witness
The Untouchables
Field of Dreams
Dances With Wolves
(I say Diehard should be on this list, but I know it would never be)
Fight Club
Malcolm X
Reservoir Dogs

We decided that we are going to create our own list of the greatest films of all time.

Cheating on My Garmin

Yesterday I drove my mother's Pilot, which has a different gps than the wonderful device that is our Garmin. It kept tripping me up because the navigational lady didn't tell me when to turn until it was too late. Our Garmin lady tells me about 0.2 miles before the turn, and once more at the turn, so I kept missing crucial turns. I turned to my sister and said, "My gps lady is so much better than yours."

She said, "What? Just because she isn't constantly jabbering away?"

A Good Example of a Bad Example

My sister was over this weekend and we've been keeping up with the whole Paris Hilton thing. The one thing that we don't understand is why Paris Hilton's attorney is so indignant about the fact that she is being used as an example.

"Isn't that the whole purpose of a justice system?" Jenny said. "Someone does something illegal, everyone sees what happens to him. Everyone is now too too scared to do the same thing."

J Mascis = Saruman

We went to the Dinosaur Jr. concert the other day and I discovered something. J Mascis is Saruman!!

Breaking New Ground

I recently watched the movie "The Brothers Grimm" starring Matt Damon and Heath Ledger. The movie was so terrible that it was a pioneer in terribleness, breaking new ground in the field of terrible.

I mean, the funding of this movie could have fed starving Sudanese children for weeks. My sister said that there were some movies that warrant the obscene operating expense of Hollywood, but this one is just ridiculous.

The producers must have gotten their hands on a steamy sex tape featuring Matt Damon and Heath Ledger. That would be the only explanation.

Everyone who watches DVDs with me knows that I am a sucker for the Special Features of any DVD I watch, and when I clicked on the screen, we saw that this DVD contained DELETED SCENES.

I can't even imagine how bad those deleted scenes might be, I'm afraid to see them.

Teenage Drinking Isn't Just About Teenage Drinking

While watching the news the other day, there was a report on teens drinking at the prom. There are a lot of proms taking place in catering halls in New Rochelle and the New Rochelle police departments are inspecting limos and confiscating any alcohol they find.

A police officer was interviewed saying:

"Teenage drinking isn't just about teenage drinking; it's about teenage drinking, date rape..."

That'll Teach Them

Peter and I watched an episode of Cheaters today and this show horrifies me, not because the show is about cheaters who get caught on television, because THAT would entertain me.

This show does not fool me. Most of the couples are completely staged, with the fake crying and the hidden cameras placed just where the action is. As punishment, I told Peter that he should call them so that they can waste a few days tailing me.

The report would look like this:

"Here's your wife sitting on the sofa watching T.V. and eating Terra Chips."

"Here she is taking out the dogs."

"Here's your wife going to Target and arguing with the customer service people...again."

You Aren't Going To Eat That Are You?

Peter and I finally brought his mother to my dad's Japanese restaurant. She looked completely uncomfortable, but wouldn't do anything to fix the situation. The is like what my sister Judy used to do in the wintertime when she was eight. She NEVER took her coat off, so we would be in a nice, well-heated place like my mom's friend's house and beads of sweat would be collecting on her forehead and sliding down her face, but if you even mildly suggested the she take off her coat, she would throw a tantrum.

Anyway, Peter's mother looked incredibly stiff and every time we gave her something to eat, she made a face as if we were suggesting she place the sushi into another orifice.

So for Mother's Day, I suggested that we could spend the day together with both mothers at the restaurant because my mom had to be there that day. Since Peter's mother refused to go again, we decided to go to her house first before going to the restaurant.

When we got there, Peter told her that we weren't going to be eating a lot because we were going to eat at the restaurant. Plus, she only ever makes two things and now we are sick of ravioli and manicotti.

Her response was, "You have to eat here, that isn't REAL food."

Nice, right?

Of course, right in the middle of the meal, my mother called and when I went to answer the phone, I saw a MOUSE!!!!

So it took Peter about a half-hour to trap the mouse into a bucket and tape the bottom of the bucket to a piece of cardboard. Why did he do this when it's much easier to just whack the mouse over the head with a broom? Well, if you're asking this question, you just don't know my husband.

After the mouse incident, we didn't have much of an appetite. We couldn't really eat the whole rest of the day, so the discovery is that seeing a mouse at your mother-in-law's house is really great for the new diet we're both on.

And the food at my mom's is way more appetizing. At least MY MOM doesn't have mice at HER PLACE.

Lives Are Changed

On my Digital Video Recorder, last night's Oprah show was:

Wishes are granted, dreams come true and lives are changed.

Whew! That's some show!

Larry King is s'old

I watched the Larry King show last night, the one in which he is interviewed by Katie Couric. He said he has interviewed Martin Luther King, Jr., Malcolm X, and Eleanor Roosevelt!

All that, AND he's been married more times than King Henry VIII.

Celebrity Sighting

I have this uncanny knack of never recognizing anyone famous. My college art professor took us to the Whitney Museum one time, and since I wore these really uncomfortable shoes, I lagged behind everyone else and sat on a wooden bench alone in an exhibit room.

A man walked in. I looked over at him and thought to myself, "Wow, that guy looks just like Jack Nicholson...and he's even wearing sunglasses indoors."

A few minutes later, a stampede of women raced into the room, shouting, "Jack Nicholson's in the house! Jack Nicholson's in the house."

The point of this story? If I can't recognize Jack Nicholson, what good am I at celebrity sightings?

So far, I've not recognized Julie Andrews, Julianne Margolise, Jerry Seinfeld, and...oh yes, I walked right into Jimmy Fallon outside a Starbucks and didn't know it until Peter told me.

So last week, while we were in Manhattan, a man with a really shaggy mustache walked past the car and I said, "Hey look! That's Geraldo!"

Peter looked over and said, "That's really funny...Actually, I think that is Geraldo."

Mithery thuckth

Last week, right after my sister got her wisdom tooth pulled, I drove to the dentist's office to pick her up. I drove past the office by accident and had to pull around. As I made a U-turn, I saw someone waddling toward me, someone who was holding something to her face. She got a bit too close and I thought to myself:

"What is that retarded Hispanic girl doing? I she trying to get run over by me?"

After I did the U-turn, I saw the same girl turn around and waddle toward me and I realized that the retarded Hispanic girl was my sister.

Her face was so swollen that I didn't recognize her.

Later, during the car ride, she asked me if I had seen the movie, Babel and I said no, was it good?

She said:

"It wath a two-and-a-half hour ethplorathion into the depths of human mithery."

What Would We Do Without the Internet?

Before the internet, we sang along to songs on the radio without knowing what the lyrics were. For instance:

Blinded by the light.
Revved up like a douch in the middle of the night.

This is what the Springsteen song lyrics are in actuality:

Blinded by the light
Cut loose like a deuce another runner in the night

I do believe I like mine better.

Please Don't Flip For Me

My sister came over and we spent a really fun weekend applying ice packs to her recently removed wisdom tooth. Sometimes we have house guests who drive us crazy with their incessant demands and then Peter and I huddle in our bedroom whispering about how annoying they are. My sister was perfectly behaved. Peter was introduced to the joy of having a younger sibling around. Which means that we didn't have to get up off of our fat-asses to get a bottle of Aquafina from the fridge. Jenny, you go get that.

There was a Nor-easter blowing across the country so I actually woke up before noon - I woke up at 8am(!!!!!) to make her a nice breakfast and see her on her way before the heavy rains set in.

Two hours later, I get a phone call from her, and this is what she said:

"I got into an accident. The car flipped over twice and it's totally trashed, but I'm fine."

Of course, being raised the way I was, into thinking that ANYTHING happening to my siblings is somehow MY FAULT, my brain careened into all the different things I could have done differently (I was raised by people who told me that I was the only one who could cure my developmentally disabled sister).

Even though Jenny got into the worst car accident in the history of our family, I am extremely grateful that she's fine. That she escaped unharmed except for some smiley-face shaped bruises. Especially in the light of what happened in Virginia, and all those people who died during the storm, and all the flooding that has been going on around here, we have a lot to be thankful for.

Later I calmed down and realized that you can't control it all. Sometimes, you just have to take the car keys away. I've been trying to convince my parents not to let Jenny drive until she's thirty, because my heart? It just can't take this.

Is Anyone Up for Buffet?

Peter and I went to an Indian restaurant for their buffet lunch. The buffet is supposed to go on until 2:30pm, and we arrived at 2:00pm to find the last dregs of the day's lunch. No more food came out, and there were only unsatisfying bits of chicken in the Makhanwala - the only dish I really like.

Later, this HUGE guy in a blue parka takes a spoon from the Bhindi Masala and accidentally drops it on the floor.

What would you do in this situation?

1. Give the spoon to waitstaff.
2. Put the spoon on the table.
3. Put the spoon back into the food.

The dude put the spoon BACK INTO THE FOOD!!!!

I looked around the room, expecting the waitstaff to whisk the pot away and appear with a fresh pot. But the only waitstaff who saw the man do this looked around with confusion, and then decided to ignore the whole thing altogether.

Needless to say, Peter and I are no longer going back to this restaurant.

Okay, so now we no longer go to the Indian Restaurant in Mount Kisco (closing down one hour early incident), The Flying Pig Restaurant (gross chicken bits incident), Temptation Tea House (rude waitress incident), Cosi (bad waitress incident), Bangkok Thai (chicken in Peter's vegetarian Pad Thai incidents - twice!), Pizza & Brew (lower food quality incident), and many other restaurants in Westchester because the food just isn't really very good.

The list of restaurants we won't frequent again just grows and grows.

And you know the grossest part of the whole lunch? The guy who put the dirty spoon back into the pot went back for seconds! Using the same dirty spoon!

Next Time I Will Say Jambo!

I was walking down Stanton Street today in downtown Manhattan and a black guy walking in the other direction said, "Ahnyeeahsayo."

First of all, I am NOT Korean. Secondly, I do not look Korean. This annoys me about ten times more than when people say "Kombahnwah," to me. And twenty times more than when people say, "Ni-hoooooooow."

Yes, I am ASIAN. But I am AMERICAN.

Next time a black guy says hello to me in an Asian language, I am going to say to him:

JAMBO!

Countdown to HOUSEGUESTS!!!!

Peter and I have finally gotten around to finishing up the bathroom project - or rather, the nice people we have hired to put in the new bathroom are almost finished.

I am very excited, especially because this means that now everything that needs to be painted has been painted. And everything that needs to be bought has been bought. Now I can set everything up to our liking, just in time to move out...just kidding.

We already have a waiting list full of people ready to come over and have my very delicious sour cream lemon pancakes for brunch the next day. (C'mon, I don't get up early enough to have actual BREAKFAST)

Plus, we are walking distance from TARGET!!!! Isn't that enough of a reason to visit?

Cate Blanchett is Great, I Just Haven't Seen Any of Her Movies

I asked Peter yesterday who his favorite actress was and he said, "Cate Blanchett."

I said, "Oh, really? Name one movie she's done that you've seen."

"Uhhhm...uhhh...."

"You can't think of one?"

"What? Should I say Sandra Bullock, just because I've seen ALL of her CRAPPY movies?"

Brad Pitt and Don Cheadle? Exactly the Same.

I have been wanting to get a new mobile phone for the past month. And since I have the Verizon Wireless 2-year $100 credit, I've been lurking Verizon stores the past few days.

Every time I go to a store, the salespeople tell me the phone I want is a different price. Apparently, mobile phone prices change all the time, like ocean tides. Oh, did I say this cost $99? No, it is actually $150. Did I say $150? It was on sale for $39 up until yesterday, but today it is $150. Oh, did you think that you had a $100 credit because you have the 2-year $100 credit? Oh, no. You need to subtract a $20 activation fee. So it's actually 2-years $80. That's in the fine print.

I went to the Verizon store on Bedford Ave in Mount Kisco, and I asked a simple question about the phone. But then I saw another phone and asked:

"What's the difference between these two phones?"

The answer?

"They're exactly the same."

Oh really? The Motorola Krazr and the LG 8300 are exactly the same?

That's like saying Brad Pitt and Don Cheadle? Oh, they're exactly the same.

My sister said that they purposely make things really difficult so that you will be overwhelmed and say, "Okay, this one, I'll pay $100 for this one. Now can I go home?"

Right, but I'm not built that way. I'm more like, "Huh? I can't handle this right now. I need to go home and take a nap."

My Next Party Will Be a Goddess Party

There is one television show that has overtaken the nation and my living room. And this season, what with the woman with the fake leg, Dancing With the Stars is good American fun.

The scenes that are ridiculous, the ones that make me cringe, are not the dancing scenes, but rather the scenes of celebrities in their real life.

Leeza Gibbons actually said, "My 50th birthday party was a goddess party."

Cut to scenes of children in togas dancing for the birthday goddess.

I turned to Peter and said, "Why, that's a great idea! Our next party should be a GODDESS PARTY."

Trying For a Good Baby

I am reading a book that was the winner of the 2005 Orange Prize, a book I wanted to read because I am also working on a epistolary novel.

HOWEVER, I am also working on trying to have a baby and people who are trying to have a baby should NOT READ "We Need to Talk About Kevin" by Lionel Shriver. Because it is a book about a woman who ends up having an evil baby.

This baby goes on a killing rampage at his school and the whole book is about the mother whining about how she never wanted to give up her career for a baby.

I think people who don't want to have babies should not have babies, because they will turn out to be evil, or at least turn out to be just another guy who cuts people off on highways. And really, who needs more of those people?

Peter said something really sweet today. He said:

I hope we don't have a girl, because she's going to be gorgeous and I won't know what to do.

And I said:

Especially if she turns out to be a slut.

He moaned and dropped his head into his hands.

Why We Went to Spice Instead of Tomatillo

In about one time out of ten, when Peter and I go to a restaurant, we get there and the place is dark. It is dark because the place is closed on Mondays...wait, is it Tuesday? Yes, then it is closed Tuesday. We went over to the Inn at Pound Ridge a month ago to try their brunch, and even though I had checked their website, it was closed...under new management.

So today, we decided to go to Tomatillo for dinner - a celebratory Yay-Peter-Quit-His-Job-At-The-School-For-Idiots. We drove up to the place, and as Peter is pulling into a parking spot, I said, "Babe, it's closed."

As if in slow motion, Peter turned and said, "No, it's....Yes...it...is."

But then, seeing that the red was creeping up my face, like a Looney Tunes cartoon character, Peter quickly said, "Hey, let's not let this put us in a bad mood! Let's go somewhere else! Like...City LIMITS!! Yeah! OR Angelica KITCHEN! That sounds GOOD!"

How could we have made such a rookie mistake? I mean, what have we learned in the past nine years? Yes, we may have really great luck in that we are s'happy together, but it comes with a price, and the price is that we can never find parking right away, we always pick the wrong lane to be on in the highway - the one that doesn't move - and we CONSTANTLY get to a restaurant that is CLOSED.

Either Nothing is Wrong, OR You Will Be Blown To Bits

Recently, I was startled to find that a light had come on in the dashboard of our Honda Element. This always makes me really nervous, because I don't know anything about cars, and every time I bring my car to the dealership for service, I get reamed.

Once, when I complained that I felt that the mechanics were totally scamming me, my mother said:

"Since we don't know anything about cars, we don't have any other choice but to get scammed by mechanics. If you face that fact in life, you'll feel better about this."

This is the advice I grew up with folks. Very similar to:

"I'm sorry that Stephanie Foster kicks you under the table at school, but next year in first grade, you might have differently-shaped tables - or she won't be sitting next to you - that's something to look forward to!"

My parents really never went to bat for me, except when I came home from school after my last day of second grade without any homework. My father, convinced that I was a complete liar, drove me right back to the school where Mrs. Adams (who actually hit me on the head with a book out of frustration because I hadn't learned how to read yet - and of course, when I told my parents, they did not feel that this was anything earth-shattering) explained that IN AMERICA there was no homework during summer vacation. My father insisted that she give me some sort of assignment, so she rummaged around and gave me two workbooks.

Anyway, back to the car story. I looked up what that light symbolized in the car manual and it said:

"If the indicator comes on while driving, it means one of the engine's emissions control systems may have a problem...Continued operation may cause serious damage."

Then, in the next paragraph, it said:

"...the indicator coming on could be due to a loose or missing fuel fill cap. Tighten the cap until it clicks at least three times. Tightening the cap will not turn the indicator off immediately. It takes at least three days of normal driving."

So what do I do? Keep driving three days? Or bring it in to prevent SERIOUS DAMAGE?

We Don't Like Yanni

We were at Borders today and eavesdropping on a couple who were obviously on a first date. The guy was asking the girl what she thought about The Beatles, and she said that she's only heard a couple of songs by them, and wasn't very impressed. She then told him that she preferred New Age music.

"Okay," Peter said. "At this point, I would pay the bill and get up to leave."

"But I liked really crappy music before you introduced me to good music."

"Yeah, but you liked good crappy music. New Age is crappy crappy music."

You Are Your Own Cockblocker, My Friend

The last night of AWP, I was hanging out with Rob. He's the managing editor of a publication also, and he likes to make his own crafted books. During one of our conversations, I told him that I love Boston, the city where he lives, because that is where my favorite restaurant is located. I also told him that my favorite animal is the elephant and I have a mini elephant walk in my kitchen. He leaned back and carefully looked at me, a look that I have come to recognize as a "wow, you're kind of nuts" look. My sister gives me this look whenever I expound on my huge crush on Al Franken. He's goofy, smart and funny. Whenever someone gets me to laugh I get an automatic mini-crush.

"You collect elephants?" Rob said. "That's cute, because I do too."

All my life, I have never met a man who was interested in the things I was interested in also. I kind of imagined what life would be like if I had married someone just like me. I pictured afternoons filled with crafting things out of paper and string and traveling on expeditions where we brought home intricately carved wooden elephants. I guess it's never happened because they say "opposites attract" not "people living parallel lives attract."

Because of my insomnia, I was afraid to go to sleep and not wake up for my flight, so my brilliant idea was to stay up all night. This is something I pretty much do on a regular basis. Toward the end of the night, there was another girl there who kept asking me if I needed to go pack. I kept saying no, and in my delirious sleep-deprived condition, it didn't occur to me that she wanted to be alone with Rob.

At one point, Rob left to go to the men's room, and this girl leaned over to me and said, "Plue, do you know what a cockblocker is?"

I was extremely sleep-deprived at this point, so I couldn't hear very well, plus I wasn't really registering what she was saying. All I kept repeating was:

"What? What did you say?"

Then Rob returned, and half an hour later, I thought to myself, "Ohhhhh...cock...blocker..."

Yes, I know - totally delayed reaction...totally plue.

That was a really aggressive thing to say and it embarrassed me. I was embarrassed for the girl because I think she's strange, and embarrassed for me because I didn't even GET IT. And now she probably thinks I'm dense - which I am, so I guess she's right.

I thought back to when I was dating, and if I liked a guy, I would just turn to him, put a hand on his arm and say, "Hey, let's go take a walk." And by walk, I mean, "Let's go make out around the corner."

"That's because you're cute," Peter said, "For some girls, everything has to be aligned and just so, or it won't happen. Like, maybe if she was the ONLY girl around, and this guy FELT like he might be even a LITTLE horny, she might be able to get some."

Although I Would Love to Meet Scott Bakula

The AWP in Atlanta was not as exciting as I thought it was going to be, and I suppose I am disappointed because I used to spend a lot of time with musicians. Musicians are, as a bunch, really fun people who are used to being on the road for huge stretches of time and hanging out with whoever is there.

Musicians are also yes people, which means that if you say, "Hey, I know! Let's jump off the second floor balcony into the hotel pool!" They will say, "Sure!"

or:

"Hey, let's stay up all night, pick up random people in your tour van, and have a naked party in the middle of the woods!" They will say, "That sounds awesome!"

Well, writers are not yes people. If you say, "Hey, let's go to this really great place for dinner that takes a 10-minute cab ride," they will say, "Let's just pick something up at the horrible cafe next door."

I think at some point, writers were yes people, and therefore, more interesting and people wanted to read what they had to say.

I was talking to my new friend Lightning Bliss, and I said, "If the AWP was an acting convention, then the most famous actor here would be Scott Bakula."

He laughed, but then disagreed with me. "That's not entirely true. I would say that the best actor would be Charlie Sheen...but he would only show up for one event, have a few drinks and leave."

Michael Knight is not David Hasselhoff

I went to the AWP this past weekend, which was actually both a lot more fun and a lot more boring than I thought it was going to be.

On the plane back home from Atlanta, as we board the airplane (on AirTran), Katie leans over to me and says softly, "Michael Knight is on the plane."

I immediately looked over to first class and am disappointed because I couldn't find David Hasselhoff. And then I thought to myself, why is David Hasselhoff on AirTran and what was he doing in Atlanta?

It was only later that I saw Michael Knight from Project Runway two rows in front of me.

I love reality-show-celebrity sightings.

A Jumbled Mess

We were watching The Oscars in fast-forward, which means that we only watch the presenters and the giving out of the prizes without the boring speech stuff.

When they showed a clip from Volver, Peter said:

"Wow, Penelope Cruz's face is actually normal when she speaks Spanish. I've only seen her speak English, which always makes me think, what a jumbled mess."

Did You Say Something?

Peter has finally put his office in the guest bedroom, which for a while, had been our all-the-crap-we-should-have-thrown-out-before-we-moved-out room. It's actually the nicest room in our condo because it's got the nicest view.

This is really great, because we can have more room in our dining/living room area and the sofa is set up so that we can invite overnight guests.

Unfortunately, every time he's sitting at his desk doing work, he can't hear me unless I talk two inches from his ear. He's got this gargantuan computer system that has five whirring motors and fans which cancel out any human voice.

Yesterday I asked him a question and he looked up at me and said, "I'm sorry, did you say something? Because all I hear is whrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr."

Meredith Grey is Dead

Yeah, like she's going to stay that way.

You know when television shows let people die, just to have them hang out with other people who died, that they're going to get sucked back into their bodies and tell everyone, "Hey, guess who says hello in the afterlife?"

He Really Stung It Up

Like a lot of younger generation X-ers, I didn't get to experience The Police the right way. By the time I became aware of music, Sting was already sliding down the slippery slope of what I call his duh-dwee-di-dwee music. It's embarrassing to admit, but I only became aware of Sting because I had a tremendous, soul-killing crush on Valde Kudal. He was listening to Sting on his Walkman one day, and the very next day I went out and bought ...Nothing Like the Sun which was so different from the Whitney Houston and Mister Mister pop playing on the radio.

One day, Valde noticed that I was listening to Sting, and he said, "You know, if you like this stuff, you should check out The Police. That's his old band. And you might want to listen to some Steve Winwood too."

I still have not forgiven him for the Steve Winwood advice, but listening to Synchronicity for the first time was kind of like the dreams I have when I discover an extra room in my house. And in my dreams, I walk around the room and think to myself, "I can't believe it's been here this whole time, and I never knew!"

A lot of great bands had already come and gone by the time I became aware. I mean, how many of us have sat in our rooms with The Police blasting on our stereos and wondered what it was like to actually see this band live?

I saw The Police documentary where Sting and Stuart Copeland couldn't sit still for five minutes without whacking each other in the head and I felt like I missed being able to experience something.

So I was really excited when I heard that The Police were going to sing at the Grammys. The show started out with a bang, with Sting belting out, "ROXANNE!"

Unfortunately, a few stanzas later, he completely Stung it up. The song sounded more like a cheezy Sting song than the clarion call I remember from my youth. I guess it's better to remember someone at their best than to try to recreate an era that's in the past. Oh well, we Generation X-ers are used to that kind of disappointment.

Forget About the Knives, Tell Me About the Diapers!

I think it's funny that people are not as shocked by the fact that Lisa Nowak tried to kill someone the other day, but the sensational part of the news item was that she was wearing DIAPERS!!

I still don't understand the need for the diapers. Don't you still have to stop and get gasoline for your car? I asked Peter how much time she could possibly have saved by wearing diapers.

"About a half-hour to an hour," Peter said. "But just the fact that she was driving to Florida to kill someone probably indicates that she wasn't thinking straight."

Lemon Meranguh!

For Peter's birthday last week I took him to La Tulipe Desserts to pick out his birthday cake. It's a cute pastry shop with all sorts of goodies. The owner does a good job with the presentation, there's beautiful calligraphy labels on all the cookie trays and pretty gift boxes decorated with ribbons displayed all throughout the store. The place sort of feels a like a little bit of Paris in Westchester.

All except for the girl working behind the counter. She could not have been more bothered by the two of us. Every time we asked her a question about a pastry, she acted like we were total morons. She emitted a silent duh before every sentence. "Those are macaroons" sounded to me like, "duh, those are macaroons." "That's lemon meringue (with her Westchester-y accent, it sounded like lemon merangah)" sounded to me like, "duh, that's lemon meringue."

I have to say, I wasn't expecting a charming French girl with a cute accent and posh demeanor, but I guess she was the best they could do around here.

Peter says I'm being unfair, that she probably only acts like that when the owners aren't there. He always gives people the benefit of the doubt. Like, perhaps she was recently dumped by her boyfriend right before Valentine's Day. And now he's taking her ex-best-friend to the high school dance. This might have all happened yesterday and now she has to work at the pastry shop and we've happened upon her on the ONE day she can't be charming.

Characters on TV Shows I Would Like Killed Off

1. Meredith Grey from Grey's Anatomy
2. Kate from Lost
3. Susan from Desperate Housewives
4. Anyone other wife in Desperate Housewives
5. Derek Shepherd from Grey's Anatomy

May I Please Buy Just One Stamp?

My sister and I went to Staples the other day and she asked the cashier for one stamp. The lady looked at her as if Jenny was a drooling two-year-old and said, "We need to sell those in sheets."

I laughed and said:

"Hmmm...let's see...I need one pen cap, two sheets of paper, one piece of Scotch tape..."

We are Finally Getting a Sofa Thing

Tomorrow people are going to deliver a brand-new khaki-colored sofa that converts into a bed so that we can finally have a real guest room and not a room-full-of-junk-I-should-have-thrown-out-months-ago. I went through my room-full of junk, and because I'm a hoarder, it's really difficult for me to get rid of anything, even the spare flooring left over from when we got our floors put in. I mean, what if we need a plank of wood floor some day? And the fifth copy of the AAA New York City map? What if that Jehovah's Witness who comes over every weekend asks me how to get to the Triborough Bridge? I'll be able to give him my map. How horrible would I feel if I said to him, "Oh, I had a map, actually 5, but I wanted less clutter in my home so I threw is out. Sorry!"

But I am trying to be good about things, and not bury Peter in stuff. Also, I know that we will move from this place some day (probably soon, since Peter doesn't like condo-living. Once you go house-living, you can't go back. Plus we're too lazy to take out the dogs) and I don't want to have another nightmarish move where I am confronted by the boxes and boxes of junk I've accumulated.

The sofa that converts into a bed will be for our guest bedroom, so that our guests will be able to stay overnight. Peter has been trying to get me to clean that room up for weeks so that his mother can stay here for the weekend. It's been four months because, quite frankly, that's not much incentive.

If Peter had said, this guest bedroom needs to be cleaned out so that Kate Winslet can come spend the night, I would have had it done in two seconds. By throwing away all my stuff. Nothing's too good for Kate, my celebrity-best-friend.

We Don't Know That Person

Macy's keeps calling our phone number and telling us that they are trying to get in touch with Gloria Dingler. We keep ignoring these messages, but they have been really persistent.

Peter finally picks up the phone the other day to let them know that they can stop calling us, because we don't know Gloria Dingler and she doesn't live here. The conversation went like this:

Phone Operator: Alright, I'll call back another time.

Peter: But this is not her number.

PO: Yes, but this is the phone number she gave us, and we have to call that number.

Peter: No matter how many times you call that number, she's still not going to be here.

PO: It doesn't matter.

Peter: May I speak with your manager?

PO: I am the manager, sir. We're trying to collect this debt and I need to call this number.

So Peter got really aggravated and told her to take the number off the account. She said she would, but Peter doesn't believe her.

Of course, I'm thinking, "Gloria Dingler? Can that name sound more fake? She might as well be named Esmerelda Fragilistic.

Anyway, just in case Gloria Dingler is a real person and if you happen to know Gloria Dingler, Macy's is looking for her.

The Dog Park Does Not Like Us

It's been too long since the dogs have gotten any exercise. I admit that it's my fault. I'm the one that is home most days, but they're big, and I'm a little hesitant to take them to dog parks by myself.

Yesterday, Peter agreed to go with us, so I found a dog park in a nearby town. We have the worst luck in the world when it comes to going to a restaurant/museum/dog park. For instance, last month I decided that we should try a new restaurant. I kept reading great reviews about The Inn at Pound Ridge, which supposedly has really good brunches, and it's about 15 minutes away from us, so I check out the web site, and we went. Of course, we get there and guess what? Closed and under new management.

My pet peeve is an establishment that has a non-updated web site. Why have a web site if you're not going to have accurate information on it?

Yesterday I checked out the dog park web site, downloaded directions, and rounded up the dogs. It was a beautiful day, 70 degrees in January, the most perfect winter day in New York ever. We get there with our handy new Garmin and Peter says, "I hope there's not too many people there."

We get there, there were strange twists and turns and we would have never found it on our own without "Jill," our handy electronic Garmin-voice. As we approach the dog park, Peter said, "Oh, great! There isn't anyone there at all."

Two seconds later he says, "Uh, oh. There isn't anyone there at all."

That's right. Because it's CLOSED until April.

The dog park Sucks Balls AND it doesn't update its web site. It deserves to go to internet hell.

I Almost Killed a Baby...But it was Her Mother's Fault

Last week, I took my (cell phone) loser sister to get a new cell phone. It was December 28, a day that will live on in infamy as The Worst Day to Travel to New York City. I spent about five hours stuck in traffic moving about a half-inch every ten minutes.

At one point, I wanted to make a left turn and although the light had just turned green for me, a lady with her toddler walking right behind her decided to push her way across the street. As soon as she passed my car, I step on the gas. At that moment, the lady throws her baby back in front of my car and by some miracle of God, my peripheral vision catches this and I slam on the brakes. Generally, when people walk past my car, I am not expecting them to come back and throw their baby under my tires.

I was inches away from killing her baby and Jenny, who was sitting in the passenger's seat said, "I was already bracing myself for the impact."

She demonstrated this by making a sad face and smooshing her head against the headrest. It was kind of a cute sad face, a face that said, "If I hadn't lost my cell phone, then my sister would not be driving me to the Verizon store and your baby would still be alive."

I couldn't help but put both hands to my face as I watched the mother pick up her daughter and move back onto the sidewalk. She and I stared at each other, and in that moment we both recognized what could have happened.

The lesson I have learned is this: If you have a stupid mother, just be thankful that you got out of childhood alive. Because when you were too young to remember, she might have thrown you in front of oncoming traffic.

I was still getting my bearings, but because this is New York City, everyone behind me started honking like crazy. Because it's THEIR TURN to move another half-inch and they don't want to lose their opportunity.

New Year's Resolution

I don't know how to decorate. I was raised by a woman who does not believe in knick-knacks. Whenever anyone would give my mother a lovely vase, a ceramic bowl, or a porcelain dolphin, she looks at it and wonders why a person would throw away perfectly good money on clutter. This same person does not get into the habit of hanging anything up on the walls. I grew up in a very, shall we say, MINIMALIST household.

For the longest time, the only things hanging up on the wall were several paintings I did in junior high. My mother once said, "That painting is more precious to me than any Picasso. I mean, who is he to me, anyway? Picasso isn't FAMILY."

Peter and I went to Vinnie and Gretchen's house for a New Year's Eve celebration. We've been moved into our condo for the past three months, which is about the same amount of time Vinnie and Gretchen have been at their house and there are still boxes in the living room, our spare room has become our spare closet-full-of-junk-we-should-have-thrown-out-months-ago. The basement is a nightmare, and I still haven't unwrapped one of our dining room chairs.

Anyway, when we walked into Gretchen's house - it was DONE. Plates hung up on the wall, Christmas decorations with a real Christmas tree and presents under it, all the furniture unpacked, with a plant and candlesticks on the dining room table. The lady has about three jobs, a four-year-old to take care of, and manages to whip her household into shape.

On my way home, Peter consoled me by saying, "Gretchen grew up in a decorated house. She learned all this from her mom. I mean, your mom is kind of like, 'Hey! I got this picture of a water-fall from one of my customers...and I'm going to put it...HERE! Behind the stereo speakers!'"

Gretchen told me that she spent a crazy amount of money for all the furniture and stuff and it's going to take her four years to pay it off - but at least she gets to live in a nice place for four years. I'm so frugal, we still don't have a REAL dining room table.

My New Year's Resolution is to make my house a home - even if I have to spend gobs of money.

Tomatillo Restaurant

We had lunch at this new place I've discovered - Tomatillo Restaurant. It's located in Dobbs Ferry and it's fantastic! It's a mexican restaurant which tries to use organic produce from the local area. We had burritos, which were excellent and their french fries were the best I've ever tasted.

The sad thing is that the Louisiana Cajun Cafe, which was on the same block, no longer exists. I really liked their Jambalaya. Oh well.

She is such a Loser

My sister Jenny has lost her cell phone...again.

She is always wrecking or losing her cell phones. Three years ago, she let an elderly man at the nursing home she volunteered at spill water all over a VERY expensive cell phone - a phone that I used up my "every 2-years get a $100 upgrade credit" to purchase because she wanted to TEXT MESSAGE. A credit that I was planning on using for my husband's new cell phone. A credit that I had been dangling in front of his nose so that he wouldn't spend a gagillion dollars on a new cell phone. When I came home that night and told him I had given the credit to my sister, steam practically hissed out of his ears.

Last year she lost her cell phone for close to a week before telling anyone. Someone could have been charging calls to shady businesses in Guam for a few days, but she was afraid of getting yelled at by our parents and myself to concern herself with what would happen to me if a million dollars got charged to my phone bill.

She lost that phone because she was at a crazy Amherst College party located in a stairwell(?!) and for some reason, everyone stampeded out and she lost her cell phone, her shoe, and got banged around.

How could she have lost her cell phone and her shoe?

I don't know if I really believe that story - but she's sticking to it, and our parents have a policy of "Don't ask. Don't tell."

Luckily, campus police found it and called my Dad, who then emailed her so she got that one back...until she lost it today.

She went for a make-up application workshop(?!) and walked around Fort Lee. According to Jenny, she put the cell phone in her bag and POOF! it disappeared.

Yeah. Right.

I Hope I Won't Ever Have to Shave

Peter went to his mom's house a few days ago and noticed that she had two cans of shaving cream in the bathroom. When he asked his mother what she needed shaving cream for, she pointed to her face.

No Christmas Tree, No Christmas Tree

This always happens:

1. I get excited about an event
a. wedding
b. Thanksgiving
c. Parties

2. In my head I plan all sorts of things I am going to do for said event
a. design beautiful programs for my wedding
b. make little butter pats shaped like leaves for Thanksgiving dinner
c. clean up the house

3. Time gets away

4. Before I know it, it is a week before the event and I realize that I will never
a. have time to make the programs
b. find the butter pat molds
c. clean up the house

This year, I planned to have a very elaborate Christmas tree, which will be the first Christmas tree I've shared with Peter (and yes, we've known each other more than 9 years - sad? yes!) - and in fact, the second Christmas tree I will have purchased myself, the first being the Christmas tree I got for my sisters when I was in college. My parents decided to go away on a lovely trip to Taiwan, leaving me to handle Christmas.

My sisters were 12 and 6 at the time - prime ages in which Christmas is still full of magic and unrealistic expectations. I was assaulted by a tremendous feeling of anxiety because not only did my sisters have to face Christmas without my parents, but I had to fulfill all wishes and desires.

I got them a tree on a very snowy and bitter cold day while running a 103 degree fever. I wasn't even going to get a tree, since we don't usually, but the six-year-old put on such a sad face that I went out and got a tree. I was so freaking happy and so proud of myself. I remember reaching the door, and being ridiculously excited to show the tree to the girls.

When the little one saw the tree she wrinkled her nose and said:

"That tree is too small."

I felt as if she had yanked out my heart and stomped on it with her teeny-tiny feet. All I could remember is that I screamed some jibberish at her (it was the fever talking) and collapsed on the sofa, where I passed out.

When I woke up a few hours later, the tree was completely decorated (albeit badly). My sisters had felt so bad that they wanted me to wake up to a decorated tree.

I cleaned up the condo yesterday, and Peter asked me why.

"I'm clearing out space for the tree," I said.

"You do realize that Christmas is next week," Peter said. "And we don't even own any decorations."

The Hummingman

When you go apartment-hunting or house-hunting, there are always a thousand different things that you can never know about a building until you live in it.

For instance, our new condo has central air-conditioning vents that enable us to hear our downstairs neighbor. We can never make out what she's saying, exactly - it kind of sounds like what Charlie Brown's teachers say during a Peanuts cartoon show.

These past few months, our neighbor has been renovating her bathroom. Her handyman hums bad R&B while he tiles her bathroom, and it's been driving the dogs a bit batty. I think that they believe the humming noises belong to a puppy who is being tortured in the downstairs bathroom. My dogs run around in circles and whine. Occasionally, they will come up to me with a look of concern on their faces and I can almost hear them say, "Well, aren't you going to DO something about that?"

The thing is, that today the handyman was talking to my neighbor in the bathroom and I could hear EVERY WORD CLEAR AS A BELL.

Because she is a single mom lady, and I've never heard her talk to anyone while she's been in the bathroom before, I never realized that the vents in the bathroom are completely un-sound-proof. Which got me to thinking - that she hears me every time Peter's in there and I shout, "HEY! Are you POOPING in there?"

Ugg

Are Ugg boots really that comfortable?

A Beautiful Mind

The scariest scene in the movie "A Beautiful Mind" is when Jennifer Connelly walks into the shed and she discovers that her husband has been filling up the room with reams and reams of writing that covers every square inch of space and is wallpapered all over the shed.

I think that every couple has a secret fear that their better half will one day go bonkers.

Sometimes when I have my crazy insomnia, I will try to work out a game of Sudoku. I find that it occupies my brain in a minimal way - if I read a book, I will want to get to the end - and then I can just kiss sleep good-bye.

Of course, I'm too lazy and cheap to go out an buy a Sudoku book. Instead, I will go to websudoku and copy a game on a sheet of printer paper.

The other day, Peter found my Sudoku papers scattered on my bedside table and he came into the livingroom, thrust them at me and said in a voice that was trying to sound calm and soothing, but you could tell that there was an underlining panic riding just under the surface: "What is this?"

I told him it was Sudoku.

"Thank God, when I saw them, I thought - oh no, she's gone crazy."

Yet Another Way The Office is Morphing into Lost

Just like Lost, The Office is killing off characters one by one. First the tailies, and now this. I'm wondering when they're going to get their own doomsday button.

At Least I Don't Talk About Stuff I Know Nothing About

I teach a fiction writing workshop at the Continuing Ed. program in Westchester, and one of the assignments was to write down some of the dialogue from Thanksgiving dinner.

There was one point after dinner that Peter's sister asked his brother about the situation in North Korea. She didn't even know the difference between North and South Korea.

Hey, at least I only talk about the things I know and read up on.

Like Britney and Kevin's divorce.

What She's Learned in Massachusetts

I'm going over my mom's house today because my sister's home from college, so I call her before I take off.

Me: I'll be there in forty minutes, okay?

Jenny: Cool beans!

I hang up the phone.

I call her again.

Me: Did you just say cool beans?

Jenny: oh...yeah.

No More Lostage!

I ordered a Garmin Nuvi 360 last night because Peter and I have the worst sense of direction EVER. It is not unlikely for us to be 2 hours late because we took a wrong turn (or a multitude of wrong turns).

Last night I told Peter:

"I ordered that navigation system you wanted."

Peter (with a small sigh of relief):

"That means that there will be no more lostage."

That's right - we're not lost, we're experiencing lostage.

Another Don't Eat Meat Story

There was a report tonight on Nightline about McDonald's burgers and that each burger is made up of hundreds of different cows.

Yuck.

Peter comes in the room and says, "What? Another story that says don't eat meat?"

Kids=Terrible Marrige?

Last Thursday, I went to a party and talk inevitably turned to kids because there was one woman there who was hugely pregnant. In fact, Thursday was her due date. My friend Beth has a two-year-old, so she was the "voice of experience."

I've never had a child, and my opinion is that labor is different things to different people.

According to my husband's friend's wife Katie:

"Have you ever had really bad cramps? Childbirth pains are like that."

According to my friend Amanda:

"I can't believe there are so many people on this planet...and they're all a product of THIS!"

Beth took me aside and asked me if we were trying. I told her that we were, but we're not stressing out about it. Basically, Peter and I have been together almost ten years now, and although we would love to welcome kids into the world, we are nervous about how it's going to affect our lives - especially since none (and I mean not one) of our breeder friends seems to be getting along with their spouses (although to my face they always tell me, "it's great, I mean, totally great").

"Well," she said. "My marriage is completely terrible right now."

I love people who overshare, mostly because I'm an oversharer myself - so I grilled her about her situation. It's the same thing I see in all of my other friends...children are stressful.

"I love my daughter," she said. "And I've never experienced the kind of love she has for me and the love I have for her and I would never say that I regret bringing her into the world, but my marriage is terrible right now. But just because it's tough doesn't mean that it's not worth doing."

That is basically the best advice I've ever gotten from a friend about parenthood. Most everyone who talks about it goes on and on about how wonderful everything is, automaton-like. They give me lines like, "It's never too early," "I wished I'd started earlier," "It's the best thing I've ever done." But at the same time, they won't sit next to their husbands at the dinner table.

That's what we've been struggling with. Peter and I have a great marriage and relationship and we're best friends. We know that having kids is going to change our relationship radically, but we still want to do it. Call us crazy.

Lexington Square Cafe in Mount Kisco

Peter and I have been trying to eat at home as much as possible lately - but we had an early dinner, so last night we decided to go out and get some appetizers and dessert.

Peter wanted to go to a tea lounge, but I couldn't find one in Westchester, so I looked for a cafe. I found a place via google-search called Lexington Square Cafe which is in town.

Normally we're wary of trying new places, especially in Westchester, because even places that get good reviews are pretty disappointing.

The main disappointment at this cafe, is that it's not a cafe. I view a cafe as a place that serves coffee and is a place you can hang out with your newspaper and get dessert. This place is a restaurant. A cafe's main trade should be beverages - and I think that restaurants should not be allowed to call themselves cafes.

The bottom line is, the Lexington Square Cafe, although not terrible, was disappointing. We ordered two drinks each (Peter's wine was good, my mixed drink sucked), the hummus (terrible - and the pita breads were caked in salt - not good) and the pumpkin ravioli (not bad). The dessert was good, it was a banana roulade. The thing is, that the bill came out to be $60, which is really too pricey for a hit and miss meal. So we won't be going back.

They played really terrible 80's music during our entire meal.

That was the last straw.

Mount Kisco is Taco Fillingless

Because Peter is a vegetarian, we need to buy a product from Fantastic Foods called Taco Filling, which substitutes for the ground beef in regular tacos.

I drove all over town this past week trying to locate it. I went to the Shoprite, the A&P, and the Stop & Shop (which, by the way, had hardly anything - no cilantro, no taco filling, no pomegranate juice - the produce aisle was only a produce corner - it should be called Stop & Try to Shop). No store carried this product.

It's just not right.

Why I Will Never Register My Parents to Vote Again

My mother and I have been American citizens since I was about ten years old. During that next election year, I asked my mother if she was going to vote. Her answer to me was that she wanted to wait until I was old enough to vote, so that she could vote for the same person I would vote for.

This makes complete sense to me, because as a child of immigrant parents, I was the one who translated my school notes and had my mom sign them. Whenever there was a field trip, I would tell my parents that, yes, it was mandatory - so cough up the $15 so I can go upstate with the rest of my class to partake in a terrible production of Huckleberry Finn put together by people who couldn't even be bothered to remember their lines.

My parents always needed my help filling out any sort of legal form, which used to keep me up nights - because my Taiwanese wasn't that terrific, and I would worry that I explained something to them the wrong way, a way which might cause the government to come and take away our house.

I used to accompany them (and still do) to doctor's appointments. Once, when my dad's hay fever eyedrops fell behind the scalding hot stove at the restaurant, he called me and asked me whether or not I thought it was still okay to insert the drops in his eyes.

Me: Well, how hot does it get back there?

My Dad: I don't know, about a couple of hundred degrees? The drops were pretty expensive, so I don't want to just throw them out.

Me: Sure, use them...if you NEVER WANT TO SEE AGAIN.

During my sophomore year at Barnard College, I registered to vote for the very first time. I also brought home registration materials for my parents - and it was the first time either of them voted.

My dad is a staunch single-issue Republican. That is, he believes that Republicans will defend Taiwan in case of any war with China. I planned on voting for Clinton, and my mother had been promising that she would vote my way.

Cut to the day of the election. I went into the voting booth first and waited outside until my parents were done. My father comes out looking all proud of himself and I told him that it didn't matter who he voted for, because my vote cancelled his out, and I had an extra vote in my mom - at which point my mother looked rather sheepish.

When I asked her who she voted for, she looked at me, then at my dad, and then told me that she had to vote for who my dad voted for - and I said:

"I will NEVER register you guys to vote again. And that means that YOU'LL NEVER VOTE AGAIN."

Because essentially, they're too lazy - and the paperwork? Without me, it's more than they can handle.

Alan Alda's Baked Pasta

Alan Alda gave me the easiest pasta dish.

Because it's so easy, I now make this almost every week. I don't use as much olive oil, and I use my covered Le Creuset instead of aluminum foil to cover the pasta.

Alan says to stir it every 5 minutes, but I just do it every ten. Because the pasta is cooked in the oven, it gives it a different texture than boiled pasta. It's a bit gummier, in a delicious way.

Peter makes his own rendition of this. He puts in fresh tomatoes and zucchini and half a can of crushed tomatoes, along with some Italian herbs and spices.

Soooo good.

The NYC Marathon

Since it was a nice day, Peter and I decided to go to Park Slope, Brooklyn to look at some open houses. Yes, we just bought a place in Mount Kisco, but we don't think the suburban life is for us.

The problem is, that every time we try to go to Brooklyn, we hit a ton of traffic. For a split second, we thought that we might want to get married at the Brooklyn Botanical Garden. It took us about three hours to get to Brooklyn and we completely missed our appointment with the caterer.

Also, almost every time I meet my friend Maribeth, who lives in Park Slope, God throws down hurricanes and floods.

We completely forgot that today was the day of the NYC MARATHON. Traffic was really crazy - we were literally going about five miles an hour.

At one point, as we were on I-87, I said:

"Hey, look! See the runners?"

Peter looked.

Unfortunately, that was the same exact moment that the signs for I-278 West appeared and Peter completely missed it. So we had to turn back, but the ramps to go back on the highway were all closed off.

Finally, we get back on the highway. Then, for some reason, we overshot the exit, so we turn back on the highway to go back to the Tillary Street exit, which was closed going north. So I said, "since 29B is closed, let's take 29A."

Big mistake - since exit 29A without warning takes you straight into CHINATOWN!!

Let's just say it took us about 3 hours to get to Park Slope and Peter said:

"Maybe God is trying to tell us something...something like Park Slope is NOT FOR YOU!"

Q-Tip OCD

When I travel, I carry around a little plastic travel-sized Q-tip container. It is the perfect travel companion which can hold 30 Q-Tips if you line them all up.

I get genuine pleasure out of coming home from a trip, emptying out the now-messy clump of Q-Tips and lining up another batch of 30 and putting it back into our travel bag.

That'a recent addition to the other rituals I do, like using paper towels to open public restroom doors once I've washed my hands.

Jenny is No Longer Credible...or Easy to Love

My sister told me today that she is going to register as a Republican, and immediately I regretted ever having taught her how to read and for wasting my time and energy taking her to swimming classes at the YMCA.

It's the sort of feeling you get when you break up with a guy after he does something horrible and all the good memories are tainted by the bad thing that he did.

I might as well give her Dixie Chick CDs to burn and a large glass so she can fill it up with that good'ole Republican Kool-Ade.

What's the point of educating these children if they're going to run off and listen to Rush Limbaugh?

But tonight I watched the pilot episode of Shark (which is terrible - and stars James Woods, who I think was the one super-glued by Sean Young) and one of the characters said:

"It's easy to love someone who is easy to love. But when you really love someone, you have to love them when they're not loveable."

When I got off the phone with Jenny, Peter saw I was upset. When I told him about this, he said:

"If she's going to go down that road, that girl's going to lose all her credibility."

Cold Feet

For some reason, right before bed, my feet turn into icicles. I usually try to sneak them onto Peter's feet to warm them up. He used to want to help me out, but he's become less and less amenable to it. Finally today, one week before our two year wedding anniversary, he says to me:

"Nuh-uh. No more. Put on some socks."

This is Who They Hired

As you know, I did not get that copywriter job. Ever since, I have been really curious about who they ended up hiring. This is the newest issue of the magazine and I laughed when I read the first sentence.

"Though the American press may not have known what “secure location” Vice President Cheney was in on September 11, 2001, prompting much idle speculation, Marine Corps Lt. Col. Bob Darling ’87 did, because he was with him."

I mean, what the hell is that?

This reminds me of an interview I saw on TV with a famous chef regarding Rachael Ray.

"Yes, she's very charming. But a chef? I don't think so."

I read this woman's article and my feeling was this:

"I'm sure she's lovely, but a writer? I don't think so."

We Really Missed Liz Cho

Peter and I are back from our three-day vacation in Vermont - well, we thought we were staying in Vermont because the house we rented was advertised as Vermont, but when we got there, it was upstate New York. The old bait-and-switch.

Peter and I watch ABC news with Liz Cho and - without fail - she flubs her lines at least three times during every broadcast. This drives us nuts and Peter says, "Sue Simmons would never do that. She and Chuck Scarborough are total professionals." It also drives us nuts that Liz Cho makes stupid side comments about news stories.

We also think that Scott Clark should stop with his wacky "Out of This World" and just concentrate on doing a real sports report, GODAMMIT. Although, that's not nearly as annoying as Len Berman's "Spanning the World."

So why do we keep watching ABC news?

For some reason, it's the channel the TV's already on when it's time for the news and God forbid we change it.

While we were in not-Vermont, the local newscasters were ridiculous. They kept flubbing their lines every other sentence and making stupid side commentary like nobody's business. Peter looked at me and said, "Maybe I should audition to be a newscaster. I mean, at least I can read."

"I don't understand how they can keep their jobs," I said. "I mean, if I had a job where I made twenty mistakes a day, I would get fired."

Their local weather man wore a white shirt with the cuffs all rolled up. Where was Sam Champion with his impeccable suits and pretty hair? It was all wrong.

The sports report was the last straw.

According to Peter:

"They're leading with the GIRL'S HIGH SCHOOL SOCCER GAME? I don't care HOW GOOD THEY ARE."

"I really miss Liz Cho. I mean, at least she's pretty."

There are Tailies at The Office

Peter and I love the show "The Office," which reminds us of the place we both worked for when we met. We had a boss who clipped his nails in his office and played favorites. Michael is actually a much better boss than the one we had because at least Michael would not have cut people's work hours so that the company could deny them benefits which padded the bottom line and therefore padded his Christmas bonus. Yes, that guy is going to be carried in a handbasket straight to Hell.

What I don't understand about this season in The Office is this:

Why is Jim working at the Stamford office, and why are we subjected to these new Stamford office people?

This happened on "Lost" - during the second season, we were introduced to "The Tailies." They were the survivors who were on the tail end of the plane.

I just want to concentrate on the regular office, I DON'T want to know about these new frat-boy/sorority-girl types and I hope that they go away. I like Pam and Jim. I DO NOT like this new girl the show is foisting on us.

Peter, on the other hand, says he likes the new girl better because "she's prettier."

Me: Even though Pam is better you would pick the other girl because she's prettier?

Peter: (big pause)...Yes.

It's a Turn Lane, People

Our condo complex is right off Bedford Road, which is extremely busy. Usually, the only way to make a left when you come out of our street is to wait for all the cars going left to right to pass by, turn into the turn lane, and then wait to get into the right lane.

But very often, people on the right lane get FREAKED when you get into the turn lane. I guess they don't see the turn lane and assume that you are planning on crashing your car into their car. Sometimes I get a lot of beeps from people, but the other day, a little old lady was screaming at me and giving me various hand gestures.

Get a hold of yourself, people.

It's a turn lane.

Oh, the Places I've Been

All the places I've been - I haven't covered much ground at all...

Peter's so going to kick my ass with this map. Actually, maybe not, he only visited a ton of teeny-tiny European countries and I've got CHINA!

But then again, he got to be a rock star, so I guess he still kicks my butt.



create your own visited country map

The Smoker is at it AGAIN!

That smoker is forever smoking outside. I think he's actually smoking cigars because the smoke is really heavy and dense.

Do you think it would be too passive-aggressive to get the fan and blow the smoke back in his direction?

What to do?

Today I told Peter that we shouldn't be pissed-off at someone who is just minding his own business and he said:

"Well, how would he like it if we kept farting outside HIS window?"

If only we could.