Watch "Entourage?"
I decided last night that every woman on this show is either crazy or slutty. Or both. And that Jeremy Piven yelling insults at people is just tired. And yet I keep watching. I guess I want to make sure Lloyd makes it as an agent.
Visit people.com?
I really don't give a shit which Kardashian got married/got pregnant/broke up with her pro athlete boyfriend. I also don't want to know what the cast of "Full House" is up to these days. Yet it's bookmarked on my browser and I check it nearly every day because I can skim the headlines and stay up on useless celebrity news.
See Jennifer Aniston movies?
I know, I've complained about her before, and I might not pay to see her movies in the theater, but I have undoubtedly seen everything this bland actress has ever made, with the exception of "The Leprechaun." If it's on cable, I will stop and watch it. And I will say out loud to anyone within earshot, "God, she is ALWAYS the same person - it's Rachel Green all over again!" And then I watch the rest of the movie. I think it's her hair that makes me unable to turn away.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Monday, September 21, 2009
Garbage on Top of Garbage
This morning I decided to run some errands relatively early (okay, 8 a.m. is not early for most working people). When I got back in my car after one stop, I turned the key, and it wouldn't start. It made a bad clicking noise and wouldn't turn over. I suspected it was the battery, which had died about a month ago while I waited in the carryout parking spot at a local restaurant. Anyhoo, I was about four blocks from our usual mechanic, fortunately, so I headed over to the station, hoping the coffee I'd recently drank didn't make for a completely miserable walk.
I got there without peeing my pants and the mechanic showed up just a few minutes later. I told him where my car was and he said, "Okay, I'll give you a ride over there, I'll jump it if I can and we can bring it back here to take a look." We've used this mechanic for miscellaneous repairs for at least six years - since we moved to Park Ridge. He's always given a fair price, is really fast and always pleasant. So I feel a little bad sharing this story. A little.
We walk toward his Saturn station wagon and he says, "Hold on a sec, let me just make sure there's nothing on the seat." I open the passenger door and HOLY MOTHER OF GOD THE GARBAGE. I couldn't see the floor mat or the seat. Cigarette packs, soda cans, at least two maps, an atlas, random fast food wrappers and receipts. That was just the floor. The seat had the car lighter, more receipts and random garbage, and at least $300 in loose change. He starts scraping off the seat and says (in a tone that I like to think was jovial), "I just want to make sure there's no razor blades on here." I responded with a nervous laugh and get in. This is what it looked like after he'd "cleaned off" the seat:
So we drive the few blocks to my car and he asks something about my living nearby and can I get home okay and I said, "Yeah, I can just walk home, I'm right off Canfield." It's really about a mile walk but, if given a stop at a bathroom halfway home, I could have handled it. He kindly says, "No, no, that's too far, we can give you a ride home." I say something about needing the exercise and then we start talking about whatever might be wrong with my car. We get there and he gets it started right away and I follow him back to the station, having a newfound appreciation for car washes, vacuum cleaners and the fact that my steering wheel doesn't have a 1/2-inch layer of film on it.
Back at the station, he says, "So, just go in and fill out a ticket, and you can take my car 'cause, well, you're gonna need a car." Had I been a little quicker on my feet, I'd have just called a cab or made up something about borrowing a neighbor's car if I needed to, or having nowhere to go, anything. Instead I said, "Are you sure? I can just walk." I relent, get in the car and delicately turn the key and debate with myself whether it's safe to steer with just my fingertips. I managed to get the seatbelt on without any damage to my clothes, and fortunately it was only a two minute ride home. As soon as I got in the house I washed my hands, changed out of my clothes, showered and promptly found my camera so I could record the spectacle that was the inside of this man's car.
I got there without peeing my pants and the mechanic showed up just a few minutes later. I told him where my car was and he said, "Okay, I'll give you a ride over there, I'll jump it if I can and we can bring it back here to take a look." We've used this mechanic for miscellaneous repairs for at least six years - since we moved to Park Ridge. He's always given a fair price, is really fast and always pleasant. So I feel a little bad sharing this story. A little.
We walk toward his Saturn station wagon and he says, "Hold on a sec, let me just make sure there's nothing on the seat." I open the passenger door and HOLY MOTHER OF GOD THE GARBAGE. I couldn't see the floor mat or the seat. Cigarette packs, soda cans, at least two maps, an atlas, random fast food wrappers and receipts. That was just the floor. The seat had the car lighter, more receipts and random garbage, and at least $300 in loose change. He starts scraping off the seat and says (in a tone that I like to think was jovial), "I just want to make sure there's no razor blades on here." I responded with a nervous laugh and get in. This is what it looked like after he'd "cleaned off" the seat:
So we drive the few blocks to my car and he asks something about my living nearby and can I get home okay and I said, "Yeah, I can just walk home, I'm right off Canfield." It's really about a mile walk but, if given a stop at a bathroom halfway home, I could have handled it. He kindly says, "No, no, that's too far, we can give you a ride home." I say something about needing the exercise and then we start talking about whatever might be wrong with my car. We get there and he gets it started right away and I follow him back to the station, having a newfound appreciation for car washes, vacuum cleaners and the fact that my steering wheel doesn't have a 1/2-inch layer of film on it.
Back at the station, he says, "So, just go in and fill out a ticket, and you can take my car 'cause, well, you're gonna need a car." Had I been a little quicker on my feet, I'd have just called a cab or made up something about borrowing a neighbor's car if I needed to, or having nowhere to go, anything. Instead I said, "Are you sure? I can just walk." I relent, get in the car and delicately turn the key and debate with myself whether it's safe to steer with just my fingertips. I managed to get the seatbelt on without any damage to my clothes, and fortunately it was only a two minute ride home. As soon as I got in the house I washed my hands, changed out of my clothes, showered and promptly found my camera so I could record the spectacle that was the inside of this man's car.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Ten Worst Movies I Actually Paid to See in the Theater
I'm flipping through channels on our "basic cable" TV upstairs and came across VH1's airing of "The Bodyguard." I'm embarrassed to calculate in what year this movie came out, because I'm pretty sure I saw it in the theater. Somehow saying I rented it sounds much less lame. Actually the fact that I've not turned the channel yet is mortifying.
It's lameness got me thinking about other movies I've paid to see. Most were the result of a friend's or boyfriend's interest: "Okay, we'll see Waterworld if you really want to. I thought Dances with Wolves was pretty good..." (For the record, Kevin Costner should have quit at Bull Durham.) So here goes, in no particular order (and yet I felt the need to "countdown"):
10. Coffee and Cigarettes. I read a review of this movie, a series of vignettes directed by Jim Jarmusch, whom I'd never heard of, and you'd have thought it would have changed my life. Unfortunately I just didn't understand or appreciate the dialogue. Two of the three people I went with fell asleep halfway through.
9. She-Devil. In my defense, I walked out of this so-called comedy about 35 minutes into it.
8. Breakin' 2: Electric Boogaloo. A friend's mom offered to drive us, and in 4th grade, we'd do anything for a ride to the mall. Remarkably, one did not have to see the original Breakin' to follow the plot of its sequel.
7. New Jack City. No idea why I was remotely interested in seeing this. I do know it was the first time I experienced how some black audiences enjoy yelling at the movie screen as if Wesley Snipes can hear them.
6. Sex and the City: The Movie. Way too much shrieking and, really, way too much celebration of high-end fashion - the bridal gown montage was beyond irritating. I could write a whole entry about why this movie wasn't necessary. And now there's a sequel in the works! Eeeeeek!
5. Waterworld. At least it prevented me from seeing The Postman.
4. Adventures in Babysitting. Alright, I probably thought it was an okay movie when I was in 7th grade, but I recently came across it on cable and it is not okay. Not at all. The opening credits made me sad for Elisabeth Shue.
3. Con-Air. I don't remember who talked me into seeing this, but I know I've never regained whatever shred of respect I had for Nicholas Cage.
2. Hudson Hawk. I've literally blocked this entire movie from memory.
1. Fresh Horses. Again, don't remember the plot of this one, but I do remember leaving the theater thinking, "Just because a movie stars Molly Ringwald and Andrew McCarthy, doesn't mean it's a John Hughes project." Lesson learned; always consider who wrote and directed it; actors are just there for the paycheck.
It's lameness got me thinking about other movies I've paid to see. Most were the result of a friend's or boyfriend's interest: "Okay, we'll see Waterworld if you really want to. I thought Dances with Wolves was pretty good..." (For the record, Kevin Costner should have quit at Bull Durham.) So here goes, in no particular order (and yet I felt the need to "countdown"):
10. Coffee and Cigarettes. I read a review of this movie, a series of vignettes directed by Jim Jarmusch, whom I'd never heard of, and you'd have thought it would have changed my life. Unfortunately I just didn't understand or appreciate the dialogue. Two of the three people I went with fell asleep halfway through.
9. She-Devil. In my defense, I walked out of this so-called comedy about 35 minutes into it.
8. Breakin' 2: Electric Boogaloo. A friend's mom offered to drive us, and in 4th grade, we'd do anything for a ride to the mall. Remarkably, one did not have to see the original Breakin' to follow the plot of its sequel.
7. New Jack City. No idea why I was remotely interested in seeing this. I do know it was the first time I experienced how some black audiences enjoy yelling at the movie screen as if Wesley Snipes can hear them.
6. Sex and the City: The Movie. Way too much shrieking and, really, way too much celebration of high-end fashion - the bridal gown montage was beyond irritating. I could write a whole entry about why this movie wasn't necessary. And now there's a sequel in the works! Eeeeeek!
5. Waterworld. At least it prevented me from seeing The Postman.
4. Adventures in Babysitting. Alright, I probably thought it was an okay movie when I was in 7th grade, but I recently came across it on cable and it is not okay. Not at all. The opening credits made me sad for Elisabeth Shue.
3. Con-Air. I don't remember who talked me into seeing this, but I know I've never regained whatever shred of respect I had for Nicholas Cage.
2. Hudson Hawk. I've literally blocked this entire movie from memory.
1. Fresh Horses. Again, don't remember the plot of this one, but I do remember leaving the theater thinking, "Just because a movie stars Molly Ringwald and Andrew McCarthy, doesn't mean it's a John Hughes project." Lesson learned; always consider who wrote and directed it; actors are just there for the paycheck.
Friday, September 11, 2009
I've Become "That Person"
The other day, I pulled into the mall parking lot and noticed two women getting out of the parking spot marked for "Expectant Mothers." These women were not pregnant. They did have two toddlers with them, both in strollers. I had to pee and was a bit irritated. Normally, I don't care where I park and sometimes even appreciate being forced to walk a little extra. On this day, however, I was not in the mood to walk. I ended up leaving a note on their car:
This parking space is for "expectant mothers." Not "people with strollers."
- Expectant (and very crabby) Mother
Okay, so I've become that person who leaves notes on strangers' cars. I should add that I have carpal tunnel in my right hand, so my handwriting looks a bit like that of a serial killer these days.
Also this week, I found myself really, really thirsty for a diet coke. I've tried to avoid artificial sweeteners (even though they've supposedly been deemed "safe" in multiple studies, I still feed guilty) throughout most of my pregnancy. But McDonald's fountain diet coke is just fantastic, and I caved on a small drink.
Okay, so I've become that visibly pregnant woman sucking on a soda. I should add that I was wearing a tank top, which might be considered a little trashy. Don't judge me. It was 80 degrees and sunny, and I was hot.
But the last straw came today. I went to the gym to swim laps at around 11 a.m. More often than not, there is at least one woman in the locker room in a state of undress. Sometimes this woman is elderly, sometimes heavyset. Even if the token naked woman in the locker room were Giselle, I'd still be uncomfortable. So I avert my eyes as usual to avoid any nakedness, swim my laps and come back to the locker room to shower. I wanted to not ride home with a wet suit on under my clothes, so I took my suit off in the shower. Then I wrapped myself up into the towel I'd brought from home, which was part of a set I'd received for - yes, it's this old - high school graduation. It was old, and also, towels made in the early 90s were smaller than towels are today. It didn't cover me quite like a beach towel. This made it difficult to get dressed modestly. An 80+ year old woman happened to be using the locker next to mine - she came around the corner right when I decided it was too much work to try to keep the towel over me and still balance on one foot to put my underwear on.
Oh my god. I've become that naked person in the public locker room.
This parking space is for "expectant mothers." Not "people with strollers."
- Expectant (and very crabby) Mother
Okay, so I've become that person who leaves notes on strangers' cars. I should add that I have carpal tunnel in my right hand, so my handwriting looks a bit like that of a serial killer these days.
Also this week, I found myself really, really thirsty for a diet coke. I've tried to avoid artificial sweeteners (even though they've supposedly been deemed "safe" in multiple studies, I still feed guilty) throughout most of my pregnancy. But McDonald's fountain diet coke is just fantastic, and I caved on a small drink.
Okay, so I've become that visibly pregnant woman sucking on a soda. I should add that I was wearing a tank top, which might be considered a little trashy. Don't judge me. It was 80 degrees and sunny, and I was hot.
But the last straw came today. I went to the gym to swim laps at around 11 a.m. More often than not, there is at least one woman in the locker room in a state of undress. Sometimes this woman is elderly, sometimes heavyset. Even if the token naked woman in the locker room were Giselle, I'd still be uncomfortable. So I avert my eyes as usual to avoid any nakedness, swim my laps and come back to the locker room to shower. I wanted to not ride home with a wet suit on under my clothes, so I took my suit off in the shower. Then I wrapped myself up into the towel I'd brought from home, which was part of a set I'd received for - yes, it's this old - high school graduation. It was old, and also, towels made in the early 90s were smaller than towels are today. It didn't cover me quite like a beach towel. This made it difficult to get dressed modestly. An 80+ year old woman happened to be using the locker next to mine - she came around the corner right when I decided it was too much work to try to keep the towel over me and still balance on one foot to put my underwear on.
Oh my god. I've become that naked person in the public locker room.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
What to Expect After Talking to Friends and Family About Having a Baby
Like most expectant parents, we've been reading the self-proclaimed "America's pregnancy bible!!", What to Expect When You're Expecting. I've taken most of what's in the book with a grain of salt, because it does seem a little preachy and a bit "alarmist," as one friend described it. They should change the title to What to Fear When You're Expecting.
I'm on the final section, titled, "Labor and Delivery." It should just be titled, "PAIN." I've decided that nothing good can come from my reading this section about cramping, tearing and something known as a "bloody show" that I assume is NOT "Fawlty Towers" or some other British television program. Why the phrase "bloody show?" Are a pack of med students going to parade through the room to see how much I'm bleeding? Is there so much bleeding that it's like a circus performance gone awry?
The book also talks about having a birth plan, which I know of only through books. I haven't asked around yet, but I don't personally know of anyone who wrote out what they wanted or expected to happen during labor and delivery. It's my understanding that what's gonna happen is gonna happen, you can't outline it and distribute copies of it among the nursing staff and expect it to happen. If I were an L&D nurse, I would crinkle that piece of paper into a tiny ball and throw it in the recycle bin.
I'll finish the book, but I won't enjoy it. I think I'd rather be caught off guard by the degree of pain, request an epidural and see how it goes.
I'm on the final section, titled, "Labor and Delivery." It should just be titled, "PAIN." I've decided that nothing good can come from my reading this section about cramping, tearing and something known as a "bloody show" that I assume is NOT "Fawlty Towers" or some other British television program. Why the phrase "bloody show?" Are a pack of med students going to parade through the room to see how much I'm bleeding? Is there so much bleeding that it's like a circus performance gone awry?
The book also talks about having a birth plan, which I know of only through books. I haven't asked around yet, but I don't personally know of anyone who wrote out what they wanted or expected to happen during labor and delivery. It's my understanding that what's gonna happen is gonna happen, you can't outline it and distribute copies of it among the nursing staff and expect it to happen. If I were an L&D nurse, I would crinkle that piece of paper into a tiny ball and throw it in the recycle bin.
I'll finish the book, but I won't enjoy it. I think I'd rather be caught off guard by the degree of pain, request an epidural and see how it goes.
Saturday, September 5, 2009
I Did Not Peak In High School
Brian and I went to our local high school's football game last night. They are ranked #4 in the Tribune's poll this season, and were playing the #1 team. And it was down the street and cost $3 to get in. And they really are impressive. So, it was a fairly entertaining evening.After a first trip to the bathroom, where three members of the school's dance team were primping in very short shorts and knee socks pulled way high, however, I started to think back to my high school days. I was a football cheerleader, but not a good one. I was always the one in the formation with my arm at the wrong angle. In addition to being uncoordinated, I also didn't know a thing about football back then and so didn't understand what the cheers meant. Cheers like "Sack! That quarterback! Crash! Through that line!" were lost on me. So was one called 'First and 10." Our captain always had to tell me and a few equally clueless friends of mine when it was time to whip that one out.
Seeing the dance team girls and all the other teenagers mingling, in their well-thought-out clothes and hair, made me grateful for the time I didn't waste back then caring too much about what brand of clothes I had (Guess jeans were cool for awhile, but that died in 9th grade) or how my hair looked. I wasn't a "nerd" necessarily, but I wasn't into sports (the yardstick for cool at my high school) like all my friends. I liked having a part time job more than I missed being able to run cross country. For what it's worth, by graduation, I had a much better CD collection to take with me to college than most of my friends. I knew, thanks to some older siblings, I guess, that there was much more to life after high school. If I was awkward then, or didn't always "get" my friends who were better at makeup and hair than I was, it was okay. I'm not sure if I've reached my peak yet, but I'm sure as hell glad I didn't do it at 16. Yikes.
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