Get Over Yourself Kelly Killoren Bensimon

Last night's episode of The Real Housewives of New York City began with Ramona inviting Kelly to attend the Badgley Mischka fashion show with her. While they were waiting for the show to begin, Kelly complained to Ramona that Bethenny had insulted her during the meeting for Jill's charity by referring to Kelly as "Madonna." Kelly then said to Ramona, "bad manners are really, really, repulsive to me."

Ramona, displaying a diplomatic streak I'm not used to, asked Kelly if she thought Bethenny was jealous of, or threatened by her.

"No", Kelly replied. "That would be like me being jealous of you." Ramona seemed as confused as I was as she tried to process the backhanded compliment/insult. Kelly continued by saying she couldn't possibly be jealous because they "live in different worlds."

After the show, Ramona asked Kelly's advice for dealing with Simon and Kelly immediately launched into Dr. Phil mode, asking Ramona why she would waste so much energy worrying about her interaction with Simon.

Kelly: "You're too much of a great girl, you have so many awesome things going on, and you have this amazing energy. Why are you wasting it?
Ramona: "You're right, you're right.
Kelly: "I mean you'll just be the polite awesome girl that you are."
Ramona: "Oh, that's so sweet." (They kiss)
Kelly: "I like you. I'm an awesome judge of character, that's why this thing with Bethenny is bothering me. I want her to know there was no reason for her to be like that."

Ramona the diplomat surprised me again by coming to Bethenny's defense, saying that Bethenny grew up alone. Kelly replied that she didn't care if Bethenny grew up in the woods, there was no reason for her to do what she did (because calling someone Madonna is SO FREAKING MEAN).

Next Jill and her gay husband Brad are putting the finishing touches on her apartment re-decoration project. Jill informs Bobby that they are over budget and Bobby gives Jill a creepy smile saying it's okay (and I'm guessing Jill's going to have to do something really icky in bed with Bobby to make up for it).

Meanwhile, in Brooklyn, Simon and Alex are conferring with one of their subcontractors. They mention that they will be hanging a huge picture of Alice Cooper, complete with snake, and the subcontractor says, "I'm glad to hear you're edgy" but what he's really thinking is "you're ridiculous and one of you is gay." Simon then tells everyone how full of information his brain is, and how good he is at juggling it and moving it around. He says, apropos of nothing, that he's always had a brain for numbers and information and that as a child he used to read encyclopedias instead of novels.

There was a preview for The Real Housewives of New Jersey and I got so excited I peed a little when I squealed, "Dave, I can't wait for this show to start!" (tune in on May 12th).

Next up, the Kelly/Bethenny smackdown we'd all been waiting for. I gotta say, Kelly Killoren Bensimon went off the rails on a crazy train last night.

Bethenny was such a lady during Kelly's non-sensical tirade that I immediately felt like donning pearls and pantyhose and brewing myself a nice cup of Earl Grey tea that I would drink with my pinky sticking out.

Here's how it went down:

Kelly thought Bethenny needed a time out so she called and requested they meet for a drink, supposedly so Kelly could scold Bethenny for calling her Madonna at the charity meeting.

Forty year old Kelly breezed in thirty minutes late in her Forever 21 Flashdance outfit, complete with pink knee-high boots. She forgot to use blotting papers on her face, again.

Kelly thanked Bethenny for meeting her and Bethenny said, "Yeah, thanks I've been here for almost a half hour." Kelly replied, "Really? That's too bad."

Kelly goes on to tell Bethenny that she just wants to make it perfectly clear, so that they're on the same page, that they're not friends. She tells Bethenny her attitude is "for kids" and that "you will come up to me, I don't go down to you."

Bethenny replies that "I don't do anything that you want me to do."

At this point the axis of power starts to shift toward Bethenny and I think Kelly is starting to figure it out. She stalls for time and Bethenny asks her, "I'm waiting to hear what you invited me here to say." Kelly informs Bethenny that she will not "indulge her in this" and explains that she is "up here" and Bethenny is "down there." Bethenny says, "And I'm down here, why?" to which Kelly replies, "Because I won't put up with you antics and your bullshit."

Kelly also tells Bethenny how "embarrassed she was for her" at Jill's charity meeting and then Bethenny gets a good one in by reminding Kelly that she was embarrassed for her because of her "arthritis is cute" comment.

They go down memory lane for a while and argue back and forth. Kelly explains how she was "so disgusted by Bethenny's behavior" and Bethenny asked what that behavior was, and Kelly responded, "You tell me."

When Bethenny goes to leave Kelly is still hanging out in the doorway and she tells Bethenny "you just need to chill out" to which Bethenny accurately responds "I am calm." Kelly says, "You're so crazy! I have to go on my date now, bye!"

Bethenny correctly summed up the whole exchange, and Kelly, as a Kel-amity!

(I am so getting me a "Team Bethenny" t-shirt. I've also developed a bit of a girl-crush on her after last night).

Kelly flounced off for her date with Max, the almost English-speaking sorta hot guy. Kelly proceeded to give a re-cap of her and Bethenny's fight but it didn't matter because I think Max only understood every third word.

Bethenny accompanied Ramona to Mario's tennis match and has a chance to tell Ramona about what happened between her and Kelly. Ramona further amazes me by listening and then stating that "not everyone is going to like everyone."

Kelly picked up LuAnn in a limo and they went out for the evening. Kelly gave LuAnn the rundown on what happened between her and Bethenny and the Countess defended Bethenny and subtly pointed out the rude things Kelly did like scheduling a meeting and showing up late. I kinda loved the Countess in that scene and I feel bad because I read on the Internet that Count Chocula left LuAnn for some Ethiopian gal.

Mario got into a skerfuffle with Jill about their upcoming doubles tennis match and creepy Bobby looked like he might be contemplating having someone come and break Mario's kneecaps. Ramona and Mario then got into another skerfuffle, this time with Alex and Simon. Apparently Ramona and Mario were peeved they weren't given the heads up before the nekkid pictures of Alex hit the newsstand. Ramona told Alex she "doesn't believe anything you say" and Alex shot back with, "you're rude!"

Thank God the episode ended because I couldn't take any more fighting. I imagine Kelly's "laying low" today but I hope Bethenny walked through the streets of New York this morning with her head held high.

The Purse Post

Missy recently tagged me to write a post about the contents of my purse.

I just met Missy and I like her even though she's a Cyclone and I'm a Hawkeye. I'm wondering if Missy realizes just how much I've posted about a certain purse on this blog, namely the Dooney and Bourke medium Chiara bag in black leather that I still don't own. If you'd like the back story, please click here.

As many of you know, I launched a plan in late December to earn some money to buy the Dooney after Santa fucked me over let me down. Between selling my eggs on Craig's List, donating blood, and stripping at the Lumberyard, I was positive I'd earn enough money to buy it myself.

Unfortunately, some meddling whore over on Craig's List read my blog and told everyone not to buy my eggs because any children produced from them would probably have webbed feet and a tail.

And I never did make it to The Lumberyard because Dave got all bent out of shape at the idea of me stripping. I reminded him that before Diablo Cody wrote the screenplay for Juno she wrote a memoir titled Candy Girl which chronicled her experiences as a stripper in Minnesota. Her guy was cool with it and even married her later. Dave still said no way and I read the other day that Diablo and her husband got divorced so maybe Dave knows what he's talking about.

And I never sold my blood because the Blood Center of Iowa only wants it if it's free. Huh.

And then when I finally scraped up enough cash to buy the Dooney, those mother-effers at Younkers and Dillards no longer had it in stock.

This is a picture of my actual purse. I've been carrying it all winter and I'll probably be carrying it until I die. I got it at Banana Republic two years ago and I like it because it's big enough to hold all my stuff, two bottles of wine, and Chloe.



This is my boring brown wallet and my boring brown checkbook cover with the nerdy clip which holds back all the pages of my checkbook register. Below that is my little collection of Aveda goodies (click to enlarge). I love the smell of everything Aveda, especially their Shampure shampoo and conditioner. The little spray bottle on the left is perfume that they mixed for me at the Aveda salon I go to (I had a coupon and got it for free, yay!).





The next two items are necessary because the offspring often have something coming out of their nose or something sticky all over their hands. But rest assured, you will never see either of my kids coming toward you with something gross streaming from their nose while I appear to be blind and act like I don't see it like some moms (I've been known to yell "Uh, little Johnny needs a kleenex RIGHT NOW!"). Below that is the epi-pen and Benadryl I carry at all times because Lauren is allergic to eggs. I've never had to use it which is a good thing because I'm afraid I'll panic and shoot epinephrine into my thumb and not Lauren's thigh.






Next we have my Weight Watchers points slider thingy, weigh in booklet, hand lotion, cell phone, lip gloss, and chapstick. I never use the lip gloss but I'm completely addicted to cherry chapstick. The cell phone was chosen solely for the fact that it's red which is my favorite color.








My purse isn't very full or interesting. But you know whose purse would be interesting? Trish's. It's half the size of mine yet she has twice the amount of crap shoved in it. Usually stuff is overflowing out the top. Seriously, I bet there's some pretty odd shit in there. Next time she's over I'll try to take pictures of everything in her purse but I'll probably have to do it on the down-low because after she reads this post she's going to be pissed off at me for a little while.

I think that's all you need to know about my purse. Please come back next week so I can regale you with the contents of my kitchen utensil drawer, affectionately known in our house as "the portal to hell."

Hey, this post is kind of special

Because it's my 100th post since I started blogging on November 6, 2008.

I'd like to thank several people for being so supportive of my efforts especially Tom, Amy, Stef, Dave, Stefanie, and Trish since they were the ones I forced to read my first blog entries and demanded they "tell me if I'm funny."

Kristi, Keri, and Cindy were also three of my early readers who encouraged me to keep writing by leaving positive feedback on my Facebook wall. I really appreciate it girls!

Louise is awesome! Not only did she forward my blog to Noelle, Elisa, and Cindy, she updated her Facebook status last week to "I think everyone should go to Tracey Garvis-Graves' blog." Louise doubled my blog traffic and gave me the highest number of hits I've ever received in one day. Thanks Weezie!

To Shellie, Shelly, Brooke, Stefanie, Trish, Kathryn, Lisa, Elisa, Andria, Missy, ReRe, and Amy, thank you for leaving comments on my blog. I get really excited when I notice I have a comment.

To my new blogging friends, thanks for convincing me to come out and play with you. I'm following you too now and look forward to good times in the blogosphere.

Lastly, can everyone come out and say hi today? If you've been lurking, this would be a great time to introduce yourself.

Thanks for reading everyone. I really appreciate it.


Tracey

Yes, Fargo, you have a problem

But you ain’t seen nothin’ yet.

I’m not trying to be unsympathetic. However, I live in a suburb of Des Moines, Iowa and having experienced first hand the floods of 1993, which were among the most costly and devastating ever to occur in the United States, I think I know what I’m talking about.

Yes, you’re experiencing massive flooding and property loss, but if your Red River doesn’t swamp your water treatment center, you’ll still be better off than we were.

In July of 1993, we experienced constant heavy rainfall which culminated in the Raccoon River overflowing its banks and flooding the Des Moines Water Works treatment facility. Sometime after 3:00 AM on July 11th, the plant was powered down and Des Moines would not have running water again until July 22nd. Water was not certified safe to drink until July 29th.

Imagine for a minute what it would be like if your home was without running water for ten days in the middle of the summer. Now I kinda understand why the Ingalls family only bathed once a week on Little House on the Prairie.

Dave and I had spent the evening of July 10th getting our drink on with Dale and Joan at Billy Joe’s picture show, a movie theater/karaoke bar on Des Moines’ west side.

It was raining, as usual, and at one point Billy Joe’s electricity went out which rang not one alarm bell in our alcohol-addled brains. We weren’t thinking about the loss of electricity signaling a larger approaching problem. We were patiently waiting our turn to sing and our karaoke fun was postponed while we sat there in the dark waiting for the power to come back on. (I’m still not sure what happened but I think the already encroaching floodwaters might have shorted out something important somewhere).

I just wanted to sing. I had already handed in my request card for Olivia Newton John’s “Let Me Be There” and was just waiting for my name to be called. And Dave and I hadn’t had a chance to sing our original version of The Starland Vocal Band’s “Afternoon Delight” yet either. Dave always added a special bomb noise sound effect after the words “sky rockets in flight” which was pretty much guaranteed to bring down the house.

The power finally came back on and I think the four of us closed the bar down. We went home and fell into a deep Bud Light fueled coma.

Sometime after 3:00 AM, L.D. McMullen pulled the plug on Des Moines’ water supply and the television stations went nuts. All the vampires watching the broadcasts immediately filled their bathtubs and sinks with the last of the water in the pipes and rushed out to buy every available gallon of water the grocery stores had on their shelves. Dave and I were still drooling and snoring.

As was our routine, we were still asleep the next morning when our phone started ringing off the hook. Both sets of parents and various friends were calling to warn us that no water would be coming out our taps and that none of the grocery stores had any water left. We ignored the ringing phone for several hours and let the machine answer all the calls. When we finally got up that Sunday morning, turned on the TV, and listened to all our phone messages, it was almost 11:00 AM. Since everyone else had been reacting to the crisis for close to seven hours, Dave and I were pretty well hosed.

I still had to go to work the next day. There was no longer a dress code and I showed up un-showered wearing shorts, a t-shirt, and my Birkenstocks. And in case you’re thinking, “oh my God, you didn’t shower?” No, I didn’t. Because there was no way to shower. The National Guard came and set up water stations and you could wait in line to receive two gallons of clean drinkable water. Whether you chose to bathe in it, drink it, or make iced tea was your business.

Luckily my dad, as a business owner, had booked some hotel rooms for his employees in a town fifteen miles away and Dave and I finagled one of them for ourselves so we had access to running water and showers, an amenity I will never take for granted ever again.

Dave worked in a high rise and was given almost two weeks off, with pay. The rationale was that, if there was a fire in his building everyone would die because the fire department wouldn’t have any water to spray on the fire. Dave spent the time wisely, drinking at the bars with all the other lucky employees who worked in buildings more than three stories tall.

The insurance company where I worked was not a high rise and until Governor Branstad MADE local businesses shorten their operations to half-days, I was expected to show up.

And even though I have a strict policy never to take a number two anywhere but my own bathroom, I was forced to take a poop in an overflowing port-a-potty at work when I couldn‘t hold it any longer. There was no running water to wash your hands afterwards and P.S.? Hand sanitizer is NOT THE SAME THING. Forcing a clean-freak (with borderline OCD ) like me to skip this important step in personal hygiene is like locking someone with arachnophobia in a small windowless room with thirty seven squillion hairy tarantulas (I also refused to shake hands with anyone in Des Moines until the water came back on).

When we finally returned to our condo and had running water again, Dave caught me throwing away the dishes and silverware that had been sitting in our dishwasher for ten days because they were covered with so much mold I could have made penicillin for every resident of our condo complex.

Dave insisted on soaking them in the sink and I ran them through the dishwasher nine times while repeating to myself, “I like blue cheese, I like blue cheese.“

So Fargo? I feel for you, I really do. And as a show of support, Amy and I will temporarily stop using our Fargo names of Marge and Barb, respectively, and we’ll quit talking to each other in our obnoxious Fargo accents which crack us both up (but sort of annoys Stef and Mindy).

But only until you dry out guys.

The Real Housewives of NYC-Fashion Week

Last night on The Real Housewives of NYC, we got to observe the ladies attending several fashion shows (with front row seats, natch).

The episode begins with the Countess giving Bethenny dating advice. Bethenny correctly sums up the conversation by stating that obviously no one thinks she’s ever gone out with a man before.

The Countess is really starting to sound like a know-it-all blowhard and if she was as classy as she thinks she is she never would have agreed to be on this show.

Bra-less, horsey, Kelly Killoren with the linebacker shoulders spends quality time going through a massive pile of fashion week invitations with her assistant while wearing faded cut off jeans appropriate for a twenty year old. I also desperately want to hand her blotting papers or a compact because sometimes she looks really shiny.

Did you all know Kelly is not only an editor and a columnist, she’s an author? She wrote a book about the bikini! I’m going to write a book about the trench coat this summer because apparently there is a market for this kind of literary bullshit.

Jill visits another gay man, this time an Asian designer who is “fabulous.” He’s going to dress her for fashion week and a luncheon she’s planning for her and twenty of her friends.

Jill squeezes herself into a sample size zero and dislocates her own shoulder trying to pat herself on the back. The fact that the dress can’t be zipped up doesn’t bother anyone and Jill even remarks that “Bobby should be pretty happy.” I think Bobby should be happy that he has enough money to convince a woman to marry him but that’s because I think Bobby looks like a reptile.

Alex and Simon head to the chi-chi Christopher Deane boutique, one of many thriving cutting edge design teams located in Brooklyn. Alex mentions her closet is full because she still has all her maternity clothes and then Simon announces to the world that he’s had himself neutered so if there’s any impregnating in the future, Alex is gonna have some ’splainin to do.

And by the way, Alex seriously needs to find an ass-fat donor so she can plump up her skinny lips (pick me! pick me!). Her mouth looks like it’s missing half the time and it’s starting to creep me out.

Simon and Alex attend a fashion show and on the way to their seats, Simon decides to have a “why don’t you like me summit” with Ramona who is sitting in the front row with Kelly. Although I am not a huge Ramona fan, I think she handled the exchange well, especially since bone-headed Simon picked a retarded time and place to initiate the inane conversation. Ramona showed remarkable restraint by agreeing with Simon when he accused her of “blanking” him. She finally admitted that she felt Simon had no depth, which he couldn’t comprehend because he has a misguided over-inflated ego and a complete lack of self-awareness. I think Ramona could buy and sell Simon, without Mario’s help, any time she felt like it and she’s decided to declare him persona non grata. I just wish she’d make him invisible but Bravo won’t let that happen.

Alex and Simon finally sit down and Simon mentioned how delighted he is to be known as Mr. Van Kempen instead of Alex McCord’s wife. He leaned over to her and said, “I’m a man of my own right now darling.”

HahhahahahahahahohIjustpeedhahahahahahahahahastopsimonstopohmygodtoofunnyhahahahhahahahyoufoolyouareretardedohmygodmorepeeinghahahahahhaahha.

(Peeling self off floor, changing out of pee-pee soaked pants and tapping Simon on shoulder) Actually, you’re Bravo’s bitch, ‘kay? Or, the creepiest weird man in Brooklyn. But you have not arrived anywhere and you never will dahling.

Sure, leaking those photos of your nude wife onto the Internet was a brilliant PR coup, but you’re going to have to keep appearing like a big doofus on Real Housewives if you want to prolong your fifteen minutes of fame. So far, Simon, you’re doing splendidly.

Lastly, we see all the housewives, including Kelly who was half an hour late, sitting around a table discussing Jill’s charity event “Creaky Joints” which will benefit arthritis research.

Jill said to Kelly, “I don’t know if you know this but Ally (Jill’s daughter) has arthritis so that’s why I wanted to plan this benefit.”

Kelly replied, “Oh, I didn’t know that. How cute.”

Um, what?

I now officially hate Kelly. How can you be so simultaneously clueless AND socially retarded?

I imagine Kelly’s friends coming up to her and saying:

“Hey Kelly, I just found out my cat has feline leukemia and has mere seconds to live.”

Kelly: “Sweet!”

Or, “Kelly, my ninety year old neighbor fell and broke her hip and has to move to a nursing home.”

Kelly: “Right on!”

Kelly then got all self-righteous about her name being attached to the charity in any way and the rest of the housewives stabbed her with forks and she died.

Next week, Bethenny and Kelly elevate their catfight to a higher level and I guaran-damn-tee no one will want to miss this pissing match.

Oh, and does everyone know about Bravo’s newest franchise, The Real Housewives of New Jersey?

That one just might make me implode.

Tracey's shit list

1. Chloe. Please be advised that when your barking awakens everyone in the house at 5:11 AM it falls under my job description to get up and investigate. Discovering our neighbor’s dog (think huge, slobbering, and looks like it should have a keg of brandy around its neck) unleashed and sitting creepily in their front yard doesn‘t mean you need to go ballistic. Chill, Scrappy Doo. We have an invisible fence and everyone knows you’re not going anywhere so put down your dukes and shut up so we can all go back to sleep.

2. Ford Motor Company. Seriously, the only reason I deviated from my “all Japanese engineering all the time” standards is because my dad sold me this Ford Explorer on the cheap. We needed a bigger vehicle and he happened to be selling one but so help me God if I have to replace my power antennae for the THIRD time I will fly to Detroit, march into your manufacturing plant, and start randomly beating production workers with the antennae. I should have just left it broken after I parked under a big tree at Barnes and Noble and bent it all to hell when I backed out of my parking space. Looking ghetto would have been a small price to pay compared to the “nails on a chalkboard” noise I have to listen to every time my (BRAND FUCKING NEW) antennae goes down when I turn off the ignition.

3. Sears. First of all, no one goes to your shitty store unless they need a lawnmower, a major appliance, or in my case, they have to pick up their husband’s new grill.

Firstly, when I pull up into the parking spot reserved for merchandise pickup and your sign instructs me to call a number and wait in my car so that I will be assisted in five minutes guaranteed, PLEASE ANSWER THE PHONE.

Secondly, when I walk into your store it will not make me very happy when you laugh and tell me the sign is old and the number “doesn’t even work anymore.” It’s not wise to keep telling me how wrong I’m doing the merchandise pickup thing unless you have some sort of death wish.

When I finally got back outside and through another set of doors to the kiosk they've told me about, I managed to do that all wrong as well. I touched the screen, it asked me to type in my last name, and then it informed me my merchandise would be REPAIRED soon (average wait time 28 minutes).

Luckily for Sears, some dude came out and I explained that I was just there to pick up an already-paid-for-should-be-assembled grill. He disappeared and I stood around, messing with the kiosk thingy trying to figure out why it thought I was there for repair.

I finally realized that I tapped the screen too fast and it skipped the main menu that allows you to choose the merchandise pickup option. I experimented with how slow you need to tap the screen and I think I initiated four or five fictitious merchandise pickup orders, which hopefully crippled their whole stupid system.

Lastly, two nineteen year old boys managed to shove the grill into my shit-list Ford Explorer and its obvious they spent their lunch hour smoking. I’ll be lucky to get Beavis and Butthead’s Marlboro fumes out of my vehicle by next Tuesday.

Wow, I feel a lot better now.

Stay tuned for tomorrow’s post: The Real Housewives do Fashion Week.

McDonald's Monday

Yesterday was McDonald’s Monday at our house.

Lauren has tap and ballet after school and by the time we get home an hour later, the offspring are threatening to gnaw off their own arms unless I produce dinner immediately. A quick detour through the McDonald’s drive thru after dance class is a convenient and fast way to make everyone happy.

I realize they’re hungry. Lauren has just danced for an hour and Matthew is a nine and a half year old bottomless pit. Mama’s hungry too, especially since I’m following the low-fat reduced-calorie eating plan that Weight Watchers doesn’t think is a diet (ok, whatever).

I still make Dave and myself a healthy dinner when I get home although I’m starting to wonder if he wouldn’t like his own McDonald’s meal since he pissed Lauren off by eating half her fries and stealing a chicken McNugget.

The McDonald’s near our house has about a 60% accuracy rate when filling our order. It only took one or two instances of somebody’s happy meal being fucked up before Dave and I learned to always check the bag before leaving the drive thru.

When we went to McDonald’s last night, I pulled up to the window and prepared to launch my usual quality control efforts to ensure there would be no shortage of food.

I try to be quick when I do this because I don’t want to jack up the whole drive thru at McDonald’s and make all the other customers mad.

A teenaged boy who desperately needed Accutane handed me the bag and I quickly checked to make sure there were two orders of nuggets and two fries by counting them out loud.

I turned back to the window for the drinks and the boy handed me the cups one at a time. As he handed them to me he said, “here’s o-n-e and here’s t-w-o.” He spoke extra slowly and exaggerated the motion of handing me the drinks one at a time.

Wait a minute. I think Jr. McZitty Face might be mocking me.

Does he have any idea he has a pre-menstrual housewife in his drive thru and she’s not hormonally stable?

I gave him the benefit of the doubt because I am a mature mother of two and perhaps he’s just a slow talker.

I suddenly realize that they have forgotten to include Matthew’s order of apple dippers and I inform Jr. McZitty that they’re missing. I feel simultaneously vindicated yet irritated.

Zitty hands me the apple dippers and says (very condescendingly) “do you need me to put them in their own bag?”

“No,” I said. “I need you to stop being a smart-ass!”

I grab the apple dippers and haul ass out of the drive thru, forgetting about the big bump in the parking lot and I think my Explorer might have suffered minor axle damage.

Lauren asks from the back seat, “Did you just say ass?”

“Yes Lauren, yes I did. And I was wrong to say that in front of you.”

“Is this like that one time when you got in a fight at McDonald’s about the happy meal toy?”

“Um, yeah, a little bit. But its okay, I’ve calmed down now so don’t worry.”

I got home and re-enacted the whole thing for Dave. He’s not a fan of our neighborhood McDonald’s but my prefacing the story with “maybe I just have PMS” probably convinced him that nodding and agreeing with me was the only safe option.

Maybe Jr. McZitty didn’t mean anything by his mannerisms and comments. Perhaps I am wound a bit tight right now but I’m dealing with a serious Estrogen/Progesterone deficit so it’s not intentional, it’s just out of my control.

Hopefully things will go better next week on McDonald‘s Monday. I can’t promise there won’t be a smack down but I can promise to try harder.

Mars and Venus in High Def

Hey, guys? Your obsession with HDTV?

Yeah, I don’t get it.

Last night we went over to dad and Debby’s for dinner and we were watching TV in the basement after we finished eating.

My dad’s television is a ridiculous seventy inches. It’s so big that when he first got it, I asked him if it was anchored to the TV stand because I was afraid it might fall on the offspring and squash them like pancakes.

When we got ready to go home last night, my dad insisted on showing me how good the HD channels looked compared to the regular ones. He pulled out one of five remotes he keeps in a little wicker “remote organizer” basket and started flipping back and forth between channels.

“Look, Tracey, do you see how clear that is? Wait, wait, now where did channel eight go? Hold on, I need to switch back so you can see. Okay, look, do you see how much clearer that is?”

“Well, I guess so, “I said.

“Wait, let me try this channel. Darn it, where was that? Now I can‘t find channel five.” My dad’s got his glasses on by now and he‘s jabbing multiple buttons on his huge remote. “Okay let’s try this one. What do you think about this basketball game Tracey? It’s so clear!”

“Yeah, it’s pretty clear dad. I bet all the actresses in Hollywood hate high-def.”

“Oh I’m sure they do honey. High-def shows every line and wrinkle.”

And men wonder why women aren’t fans?

When my dad purchased his current behemoth, he gave us his old Sony big screen TV for our basement. I was thrilled! We were in the middle of finishing our basement and now we were getting a big screen TV for free. But Dave is always muttering about how he can’t wait to replace it with something more current.

I’m totally fine with the hand-me-down Sony. I didn‘t even flinch when we were playing Rock Band the other day and Matthew’s drumstick flew out of his hand and hit the screen when he got out of control during a drum solo. If that had been a new, cool, HDTV, Dave would have had kittens if he’d seen that drumstick hit the screen.

In the name of understanding this male obsession a little better, I googled and came across an article on eCoustics.com titled Why Women Don’t Care About HDTV. According to the female author, there are five main reasons:

1) Technology is complicated.

Amen sister! The only reason I don’t play Rock Band by myself when everyone is at work or school is because I need Matthew to set it up and turn it on for me. My learning curve for all things electronic is s-l-o-w.

2) Women care about content.

Basically, we’ll buy an expensive handbag or two pairs of expensive shoes but we’ll continue to watch TV on a tiny TV/VCR combo set with a thirteen-inch screen because it simply will not occur to us to buy a better TV. I agree. I don't think many of my girlfriends care about sound and quality.

3) Women don’t care about social comparison.

I like to show my girlfriends my new jewelry, clothes, and accessories. I could care less what they think about our sub-woofer, surround sound, and HD channels.

4) It’s expensive.

I don’t understand spending money on electronics and Dave doesn’t understand spending money on shoes and handbags. Shortly before we moved into our new house, Dave felt it was very important to replace our old TV with a big flat screen HDTV. I didn’t understand why we needed a new television but I’m sure Dave didn’t understand why we needed that new dining room set either.

5) The guys will figure it out.

Matthew and Dave are in charge of hooking everything up and making it work at our house. It’s pretty much a given that I don’t have the patience or ability to do it myself. There are exceptions to this gender rule though because you know who is really good at this kind of thing? Amy. She’s like an electronic idiot savant with wires and shit. She pretty much hooked up our new TV, stereo, and all the components when we moved into this house.

Last night I convinced Dave to watch my new Twilight DVD with me after we put the offspring to bed. When I asked Dave if he liked it, he said it was “pretty interesting” and “not bad.”

I have no idea if we were watching the DVD in HD or not. I don’t care either. I do know that at one point I asked Dave if he was having trouble seeing the actors on the screen since many of the scenes appear to have been shot in really low light. I was afraid I was having simultaneous LASIK failure, macular degeneration, and random blindness issues but he assured me he was having trouble seeing too.

I don’t know if HD would have helped me see any better. But maybe I do understand, just a little bit, how men might think it’s important.

And if high definition means seeing hot vampire Edward Cullen a little more clearly, then I say bring it on.

An attitude of gratitude

I’m not sure how it happened but I’ve kinda been cyber-stalking Ashton Kutcher and Demi Moore.

I follow them on Twitter @aplusk and @mrskutcher. They post a lot of tweets and even though they’re only 140 characters long, I’ve noticed that they are often very positive and have an enlightening spiritual vibe.

They seem like they’re really nice people. Ashton is from Iowa, and I think Iowans are very nice, but Demi, who is not an Iowan, comes across as a very nice person as well.

I’ve never sent them a tweet, of course, because I’m not crazy. And I’m certainly not going to send Ashton a tweet to tell him about my completed screenplay that stars him in a role that will most likely earn him his first Best Actor Oscar (but that’s mostly because the screenplay is only complete in my head and loses validity when you can’t see the words in my head converted into scenes on paper. That you can, you know, read and stuff. Details).

I was telling Dave the other night that I was really impressed with how kind and gracious Ashton and Demi are.

Mr. Cynical said, “It’s probably easy to be kind and gracious when you’re a rich celebrity.”

“That’s true Mr. Glass-half-empty, but I still think it’s nice to see celebrities acting truly grateful and not like assholes, “I replied.

Demi and Ashton, and their positive, grateful, and uplifting tweets, have inspired me to reflect upon some of the things I am truly grateful for this week.

1. The offspring have been on spring break all week. Even though we decided to “vacation at home” this year, we’ve had a wonderful time. Dave was home on Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday so we were able to enjoy some great time together as a family.

2. We had two days this week that were in the 70’s. Is this Heaven? No, it’s Iowa.

3. Dave is still employed and even received his annual bonus. The fact that it was half of what he received last year doesn’t matter because he still has a job and a bonus is a bonus.

4. Most of Dave’s bonus was allocated to the achievement of pre-determined financial goals. Even in this economy, we were able to meet two of the three goals and that makes us very happy.

5. The remainder of the bonus was split between house stuff (new lawnmower and grill), the offspring, Dave, and I.

6. The offspring received Rock Band 2. This should really be considered a gift to all of us because the whole family has been playing it this week. I am especially skilled on guitar. I’m like the housewife version of Eddie Van Halen.

7. Dave has a little jingle in his pocket to spend on whatever he wants.

8. A certain suburban housewife also has a little jingle in her pocket so she marched her butt to the mall to buy a Dooney and Bourke medium chiara bag in black leather! Yay!!!

9. A certain suburban housewife DID NOT break down and cry when she discovered that the purse is no longer available at Dillard’s or Younkers.

10. A certain suburban housewife has decided that a designer handbag will take up a substantial chunk of her fun money and is going to buy an inexpensive, brightly colored spring purse instead (and maybe price Botox or Juvederm).

I’m also grateful that I can get back to my usual routine on Monday after I put the offspring on the bus and send Dave out the door with a kiss.

I’ll sit down in front of the computer. Maybe I’ll work on getting that screenplay down on paper.

Then I really will send a tweet to Ashton. We have some business to attend to.

Sometimes my mind plays tricks on me

The other day, the offspring and I went to the library. I came home with seven books, three of which I’d already read. Dave doesn’t understand why I do this.

Sometimes I like a book so much I want to read it again, especially if it’s been a while. And I’m trying not to buy so many books, even though going to Barnes and Noble, and purchasing a few new releases is one of my favorite things to do. However, the library is a lot kinder to our budget and there are plenty of good books for me to choose from.

One of the books I came home with was The House Next Door by Anne Rivers Siddons. I read this book for the first time in 1978, when I was eleven years old. I don’t know which parent bought it for me and I’m amazed they let me read it. However, my dad also gave me Stephen King’s The Stand and The Shining for Christmas that same year so they either thought I was not an easily spooked child or had absolutely no clue about the content of any of the books they bought for me.

The House Next Door is a horror novel. All of Anne Rivers Siddon’s other books are literary fiction but for some reason she took one foray into the horror genre.

The book is about Walter and Colquitt Kennedy. They are childless, by choice, and live in a beautiful home next door to an empty lot. A young couple has purchased the lot and hired an up and coming architect to design their dream home.

The Kennedy’s become good friends with the architect and each of the home’s subsequent owners.

Something tragic happens to everyone that lives there. The house has a way of bringing out the worst in all of them and the evil gets more prevalent with each new owner. Walter and Colquitt become entangled in the lives of their neighbors, whether they want to or not.

The book is not overtly terrifying. The creepiness is subtle and builds slowly and you are able to understand how Walter and Colquitt are ultimately forced to acknowledge that an evil supernatural presence is the only way to explain what happens to everyone who moves into the house next door, especially when the “house” starts killing pets and homeowners.

I finished re-reading the book Monday night and for some reason, had a lot of trouble sleeping. I kept waking up and thinking about the book.

I woke up again because Lauren came into our bedroom complaining of a headache and sore throat. I asked her if she wanted Motrin and she said she did so I walked downstairs in the dark to the kitchen (I’d keep the Tylenol and Motrin upstairs but ever since Chloe ate the Tylenol on Lauren’s night stand, and had to have her stomach pumped, I keep it in the cupboard in the kitchen).

I felt uneasy walking downstairs in the dark. I hurriedly flipped on the kitchen light and glanced up at the microwave to see what time it was.

Imagine how I felt when I saw that the time on the microwave was 3:15 (or, as I like to refer to it, Amityville Horror time!). I grabbed the Motrin and pretty much ran back upstairs, leaving the kitchen light on. I'm sure if I had looked out the sliding glass doors I'd have seen the glowing red eyes of Jody, the demonic pig.

In case you’re thinking I’m a colossal scaredy-cat, let me explain.

I have a habit of waking up at scary times. A couple years ago Dave and I rented The Exorcism of Emily Rose one Saturday night (ironically enough we had taken the offspring to Saturday night services at church and picked up the DVD on our way home). I was reluctant to watch it, because I don’t like scary movies, but it was billed as a courtroom drama based on a true story and Laura Linney was starring in it.

It pretty much scared the holy crap out of me. It’s about a girl named Emily Rose who is possessed by the devil and the priest who tries to perform an exorcism on her is charged with criminal negligence after her death.
Laura Linney plays the lawyer who is hired to defend the priest. The story is then told in flashbacks as Emily Rose begins, and ends, her struggles against the demons that possess her.

Laura Linney is warned that, by taking on the case, she will be targeted by demons for exposing them. She begins to experience strange occurrences at 3:00 AM, just as Emily Rose had. The priest explains that 3:00 AM is the witching hour that evil spirits use to mock the Holy Trinity. It’s the opposite of 3:00 PM, which is traditionally known as the hour Jesus died.

For almost two weeks I woke up at 3:00 AM. It freaked me out and I told Dave I wondered if it was possible to somehow set your mental alarm clock to wake you up at a time guaranteed to mess with your head. And every single time Matthew or Lauren woke up sick in the middle of the night it was straight up 3:00 AM on my bedside clock radio.

The other night Chloe’s barking woke me up in the middle of the night. She paced back and forth by the sliding glass doors in the kitchen and the only reason I was able to open them and look outside was because I didn’t look at the microwave to see if it was Amityville Horror or Emily Rose o‘clock. And I guarantee you it would have been one of those times.

So basically I can read scary books and watch scary movies but only if I’m okay with waking up at scary times.

Has this ever happened to anyone else? Wouldn’t this be a great time for everyone to share his or her story on my blog?

Please tell me the name of the scariest movie you’ve ever seen or the scariest book you’ve ever read. Or just tell me about a time you had the crap scared out of you. It’ll be fun, really. You can leave your comments anonymously if you want.

I promise to read the scary book suggestions but I’m not watching any more scary movies.

And I need to find a way to store the Tylenol and Motrin upstairs.

I'd like to dedicate this post to Kristi

We had a great time yesterday! It was beautiful here in Iowa and warm enough for flip flops and short sleeves.

Our home was invaded by leprechauns and Matthew is having a hard time adjusting to the fact that they've gone away for another year.

Tom and Amy, Trish, and Kristi joined us for an afternoon of celebrating. I told everyone I wanted to introduce my blog readers to them, via photos, because they're the people Dave and I spend a lot of our time with. Kristi is the other brunette (besides me), Amy and Tom are sitting next to each other, and Trish (my twin sister) is the other blonde. I think you all know the cute dude with the goatee sitting next to me is Dave.

Kristi mentioned (actually insisted) that she is the most dedicated reader of my blog and I have to agree with her. She is the one who gives me constant feedback via e-mail and by writing on my Facebook wall. She tells others about my blog and always has something nice to say about what I've written. She also loves to be mentioned in the blog (even when I told everyone about her throwing up all over my couch).

So, to thank Kristi for her constant and continued cheerleading of my blog, I'd like to share with you my favorite Kristi quotes. Here they are, in no particular order:

"Dude!"

"Listen kids, with modern technology there's no reason why you can't take a pill now and then."

"Let's hug it out."

"I'm a lover not a fighter."

"I've just got so many thoughts I have to say them right now."

"Here's the deal, I just pissed all over myself when I went to the port-a-potty so we can either go home so I can change or you can all be cool and not give me any shit."

"Jesus Tracey, I'm sorry about your Pottery Barn slipcover. I didn't know I had such a severe allergy to lime juice."

Please keep the quotes coming Kristi. You're always a wonderful addition to any social gathering at my house. And it's because of you that I use the word "dude" so much.

So, there you have it. Another holiday has come and gone and the high temperature today is about twenty degrees colder than yesterday so I am very thankful we were able to be outside, at least for one day. It will probably snow next week but we're used to that sort of thing in Iowa.

Today is going to be pretty low key because this leprechaun is tired. I'm going to try to get the offspring to stop fixating on the fact that the leprechauns have gone and try to help them focus on the next holiday.

The Easter bunny will be here soon enough.

Happy St. Patrick's Day

"My mommy was busy making potato soup and the leprechauns got me!"

The leprechauns are coming! The leprechauns are coming!

St. Patrick's Day is a big deal in our house. It shouldn't be, because we're not Irish, but I don't know anyone who gets more excited than we do about leprechauns.

About four years ago, we started telling the offspring that if you believe in leprechauns, they'll visit your house on St. Patrick's Day. We told them if you're really fast, you might catch one. Matthew and Lauren immediately built a leprechaun trap.

We always get together with Tom and Amy, and their offspring, to celebrate St. Patrick's Day. I make potato soup and we'll have some beer (but not the green kind). Matthew, Lauren, Scott, and Grace have a ball because we hide all kinds of St. Patrick's Day stuff like shamrocks and gold wrapped candy all over the house and pretend it's the leprechauns who are doing it. We put drops of green food coloring in the toilet and tell all the kids the leprechauns are up to their old mischief again.

It's kind of getting out of hand, actually. If the leprechauns haven't left something new for all the kids to find at least every hour, they start to complain and get mad at the leprechauns.

Two years ago, Tom, Amy, Dave, and I, and all the kids, took a spring break vacation to Chicago. We watched them turn the river green and attended the St. Patrick's Day parade. We had to haul all the St. Patrick's Day stuff to Chicago and then take turns shuffling the kids between the hotel rooms so one of the adults could turn a toilet green or hide some shamrocks and candy. It was exhausting.

Two days ago, I placed a small piece of shamrock confetti on Matthew's keyboard. The day after that I sprinkled a couple pieces of shamrock confetti in each of their beds and dropped one piece in their bathroom toilet. They kinda went crazy. They're convinced there's a leprechaun named Marie who has been leaving the confetti and they've been trying to coax her out by talking into the vent in Matthew's room. We told them that's how the leprechauns get in (we've also told them the tooth fairy comes through the vents and they bought it so it seemed like a good idea to tell them the leprechauns get in the same way).

We probably only have a couple years left before they figure out that leprechauns don't actually visit on St. Patrick's Day. I'll be a little bummed when that happens.

We'll still celebrate anyway.

Guess What?

I lost another 1.8 lbs. when I weighed in at Weight Watchers today. Yay! I've lost 20.8 lbs. so far which means I'm getting close to my goal of losing 25. I've also dropped two jeans sizes. Yay! Yay! Yay!

When I reach my goal I'm going to celebrate with crack dip and a cosmopolitan as big as my head.

As you can see, I'm kind of excited about it. I haven't had a cosmopolitan in a really long time.

When I reach my goal, I'm going to ask all my blog readers (you seven people know who you are) to join me in raising a martini glass and a Ritz cracker covered in crack dip.

Please say you'll join me!

The Real Housewives of NYC

Last night was a double header of guilty-pleasure TV viewing at my house.

First we watched American Idol and Dave mentioned, like he does every single time we watch this show, how much he can’t stand Ryan Seacrest, especially his voice. Dave doesn’t like anything about Ryan and thinks he’s really short.

I don’t have a problem with Ryan but I loathe Paula Abdul and I kept yelling at the TV screen for her to “just quit talking!“ I hate her floaty, breathy, spaced out commentary and wish she’d stop drinking her pre-show vodka martini with a splash of valium. Her non-sensical communication style drives me absolutely nuts but I’ll admit my yelling at Paula, via the TV screen, is starting to get a little out of hand.

Possibly I should mention that my grandma (displaced former owner of the Buick Skylark) used to make disparaging comments to Vanna White every night at 6:30 during Wheel of Fortune so perhaps my problem is hereditary.

After American Idol, we put the offspring to bed and watched The Real Housewives of New York City attention whore their way through another episode.

And lest you think I‘m a total hypocrite, I‘d like to address a few things: A) I realize attention whoring on a reality show isn‘t that different from attention whoring on a blog (100 more things about me, anyone?).

B) I never said I was the classiest housewife in the universe.

C) If there was a possibility of a Real Housewives of Dallas County spin-off I’d camp overnight outside wherever the casting call was being held so I would be first in line to audition. Being paid to drink wine on camera and come up with snarky stuff to say about the other housewives would sorta be like me hitting the mother lode.

Last night’s episode opened with Jill planning an apartment “face lift” with her “gay husband” Brad because “you should re-do your apartment every seven years“ (Brad should not be confused with Jill’s non-gay, and kinda creepy, husband Bobby who reminds me of a crime boss with his slicked-back hair and beady eyes).

I had my own gay boyfriend my freshman year of college and thanks to my lack of a reliable gaydar, I mistakenly thought he was going to be my heterosexual boyfriend.

We’d watch TV under the covers in my dorm room bed, we exchanged Christmas gifts, and we saw the movie “White Nights” starring Mikhail Baryshnikov together. I thought we might make out someday but I finally got my head out of my ass sophomore year and realized we both liked boys.

Next on the Real Housewives were Alex and Simon discussing their Brooklyn town home renovation with an architect. They told him they wanted something other than granite because granite was “so five years ago.“ They also mentioned they might like a neon green oven. Alex told the architect she’d like built in bookshelves so Francois and Johan could grab a book by Dickens or Shakespeare whenever they felt like it.

Then, we see a shot of Alex and Simon lounging in their ten foot by three foot Wal-Mart wading pool, lamenting the fact that poor New York apartment dwellers don’t have the backyard luxuries they do. I guess Alex forgot that a lot of the poor New York apartment dwellers got the hell out of the city and are actually enjoying the beautiful swimming pools at their Hampton’s houses.

LuAnn (AKA Countess deLesseps) and Bethenny meet for lunch and LuAnn asks Bethenny if she‘ll help cook for the Hope Lodge charity event for the American Cancer Society. Bethenny agrees and, on the night of the dinner, joins LuAnn and Ramona, who has also agreed to help.

Before Ramona arrived, Bethenny told LuAnn about Social Life magazine doing a photo spread on her and selecting her to be on the cover. LuAnn, a former model, stated that the photographs would be “re-touched” which hurt Bethenny’s feelings.

While the three of them prepare dinner, Ramona gives Bethenny unsolicited dating advice and tells her to “date a bunch of men, see what you like.” LuAnn does not care for this advice and feels dating several men will give Bethenny a bad reputation.

Ramona fires back, “What do you know, you got married to a man twice your age.”

Me-ow!

The countess came unglued. She responded that Alec (AKA Count deLesseps), was fifteen years older than her and she married him when she was twenty-seven. She asked Ramona if she though Alec was an “old man” and Ramona said she thought he looked like one.

Just my two cents but I think the Countess is a wee bit defensive about their age difference because Alec does look quite a bit older than she does. If I were LuAnn, I’d be more worried about the fact that she’s the Count’s fourth wife but that’s just me.

LuAnn retaliated by telling Ramona that her husband Mario was a handsome guy but he was no spring chicken either. I think Mario’s biggest concern should be figuring out how to convince his pit bull-on- wheels wife Ramona to keep her totally tactless pie-hole shut.

Bethenny asks LuAnn to lunch and tries to explain how her feelings were hurt when LuAnn made the statement about Bethenny’s photographs needing to be re-touched. LuAnn accused Bethenny of being ultra-sensitive and Bethenny never gets the apology she is seeking.

Personally, the Countess is starting to bug me. She wrote a book on etiquette and now she thinks she can correct everyone else‘s manners even though her own are often atrocious.

So far, The Real Housewives of NYC has not disappointed. There’s just as much drama as The Real Housewives of OC but the NYC housewives have more face-to-face confrontations whereas OC is more passive-aggressive, at least until the reunion show when they all went ballistic on each other.

I think the double-header of American Idol and The Real Housewives of New York make for a relaxing Tuesday night. It’s nice to watch something that entertains you and doesn’t require you to think.

Dave and I watch Lost on Wednesday nights. That show gives us enough to think about for days.

Sometimes I miss the mix tape

Trish and I shared a bedroom until we were fourteen years old. We had bunk beds and a clock radio that we left on constantly, even when we were asleep.

If we wanted to record a song off the radio, Trish and I would hold a tape recorder, the kind with an attached microphone, up to the clock radio and hope the DJ stopped talking when the singing began.

One night, when I was seven years old, I was the tenth caller on KMGK. I won the Bay City Rollers 1974 album, Rollin’ (which contained the hit single “Saturday Night“). My mom picked it up at the radio station the next day and I played the album repeatedly on the stereo in our basement. It was one of my favorites, although I liked Shaun Cassidy’s Born Late a little bit better.

When we were fourteen, we moved into a new house and Trish and I got our own bedrooms and eventually, our own stereos. We primarily still bought albums although we slowly started switching over to cassettes.

When we turned sixteen, we inherited my Grandma’s 1972 Buick Skylark, complete with AM radio, because her driving had gotten really scary and my dad had to take her keys away. We longed for FM and a cassette player so we bought a ghetto blaster and it sat between us on the front seat as we played Def Leppard’s Pyromania cassette over and over (ghetto blaster was a perfectly acceptable term in the eighties). Some jackass stole it when we left the Buick unlocked and Trish and I were devastated because we had just put eight new D batteries in it. Our stupidity and carelessness was punished by a return to the hell of AM radio. I don’t think either of us ever forgot to lock a car again.

When I got my 1981 Honda Prelude, I spent every dime I had upgrading the sound system. I swapped out the factory stereo for a Pioneer, replaced the speakers, and added an equalizer that had a bunch of cool red lights on it. I had an impressive collection of cassette tapes, in a special case, that I kept in the car at all times.

When I was twenty-one, Stacy came to spend the night with me at my college apartment. We were road tripping to Illinois the next day so we prepared by making a mix tape to play in the car.

I remember we included Elton John’s “Someone Saved My Life Tonight” and “One of These Nights” by the Eagles. My favorite song on the mix tape was Grand Master Flash’s “The Message.“ You cannot fully appreciate this song until you’ve seen two white suburban girls (who know EVERY WORD) sing it like it’s their job. If there was anything more gangsta’ than us I’d like to see it.

Somehow, our conversation was also recorded along with all the songs. Since we were completely stoned when we made the mix tape we had our favorite songs to listen to AND our idiotic commentary recorded as a “voice over” to amuse us. You could also hear a bunch of Bic lighter flicking, inhaling and coughing. It was the best mix tape ever and I am so bummed because I lost track of it a few years ago. I’m still hoping it turns up.

The offspring have never had to sit beside a tiny clock radio, waiting to hear their favorite song so they can push “record” on a crappy little tape recorder and hope the DJ stops talking in time.

They have their own boom boxes, stereos, and ipods. They can burn a CD from itunes anytime they want. If they don’t know the words to their favorite song, they can go to lyrics.com. Thanks to XM and Sirius, they don't have to listen to commercials, or a DJ. They can watch their favorite band on You Tube or hook up Rock Band to the Wii and jam out in their own basement.

But where’s the fun in that?

Seriously, like a bull in a china shop

You know how I was saying that the vase I bought at Pier 1 was going to require moving all the home accessories on my main floor around?

I wasn't kidding.

Our house is in shambles right now. Everything that used to be on a shelf or table in the family room is now piled up in the dining room. I think Dave is getting a little tired of me asking him if he likes "that candle over there" and does he think that vase "should be up a little higher." I bet my spending all day on the computer is starting to sound pretty good compared to my spending all day on the computer AND tearing the house apart and not putting anything back.

I went to Pier 1 again today, sans husband and the offspring, ready to knock this mother of a decorating project out.

I got there right at 10:00 which, according to the sign on the door, is when they're supposed to open. The doors were still locked so I kept peering through the windows like a crazy person. At around 10:05 I gave the doors a little rattle because I'm thinking, maybe if they can't see me they'll hear me. Finally, someone opens the door, apologizing for not opening it sooner. I'm all "oh it's no problem" but what I'm really thinking is get out of my way because all the inventory I've been looking at through the window is starting to resemble home decor crack and I must get me some RIGHT NOW!

First I tried to locate a huge vase that Dave and I had seen on Sunday. We have a two story entryway and there's a big shelf high off the ground that would be perfect for an oversized piece of pottery with maybe some of those floral stems sticking out the top. That would be a big improvement over the two inches of dust and one pink fleece lined croc that's up there now (no one will admit to throwing the shoe).

I thought for sure they had sold the vase I wanted. I couldn't find it anywhere and since I was the only one in the store, both the manager and another employee were trying to help me find it. They kept showing me things and I kept saying, "I don't think that's it."

Finally I chose a different vase, which wasn't quite what I wanted, but I thought it would work anyway. Then, the Pier 1 employee and I started trying all kinds of different floral stems and sticks to see what looked best. I didn't like the little eucalyptus but I did like the big leaves. But then I liked the tall grasses better so we switched everything out several times.

Then, I actually found the vase I was looking for in the first place. The Pier 1 employees switch everything around every forty eight hours and they had different stuff coming out the top and I got confused. So we took all the stems out of the other vase and the manager tried out several for me in the vase I had wanted from the start. She had to climb up a ladder every time we tried something new and I felt bad because she was starting to sweat.

Using my camera phone, I sent Dave several pictures of the vase with the stems sticking out the top and also a piece of wall art that I liked to his Blackberry, NONE of which he received, thus proving I really don't know how to use any of the electronic devices in my possession. I'll never own a Blackberry of my own because frankly, I'm afraid the learning curve would be too difficult for me. Think how much better this blog would look if I mastered HTML and wasn't afraid to install widgets.

Next I pulled out a bunch of really tall stick things to put in ANOTHER vase I already own that's in the corner of my dining room. I turned to the side while holding the sticks and wham, knocked a reed diffuser full of scented oil onto the floor. The glass didn't shatter but it made a big freaking mess.

Seriously, I have no idea when I became such a messy, clumsy, PITA shopper. I must have said "please" and "thank you" and now "I'm sorry" about fifteen times. I thought, "if I damage anything else during this visit, I'm just going to leave." This is not the first time I've broken something in Pier 1 either. I once reduced a pyramid of plastic wine glasses to smithereens. You'd think they'd be kind of unbreakable since they're plastic but they're not.

I finally found everything I was looking for and went up to the cash register to pay. Meanwhile, a couple more customers came up to the counter and were waiting patiently to pay for their items. The employee helping me told them someone would be with them in a minute and I'm thinking, no they won't, because they're busy cleaning up the path of destruction I just left in the home fragrance area.

Finally I left. The really nice, and totally forgiving staff at Pier 1 helped me load my giant vase into my car, thanked me, and sent me on my way. I'm so going to have to go to the other Pier 1 on the south side for a while.

I got everything unloaded from the car by myself but I can't put the big vase up on the high shelf without some help. It's going to require the really tall ladder that Dave used when he painted our last house. Plus, I never like to attempt anything that might require a 911 call when I'm home alone because if I knock myself unconscious during the fall someone needs to be able to call an ambulance.

I wonder how Dave will feel about helping with the vase relocation project BEFORE dinner. It would probably be better if I wait until he's taken off his coat and I've plied him with the fajitas I'm making tonight.

But after that, I'm gonna need some help from handyman Dave.

A rant about people I don't actually know

I heard on the news (OK, fine, I read it on People.com) that Rihanna is back together with Chris Brown.

Really Rihanna? Seriously?

I’m amazed that someone as beautiful and talented as Rihanna would even consider taking back an abusive boyfriend. What is it that Chris Brown has, that makes her want to return to a relationship with him? Do you think Rihanna is telling her family something like “I know he knocked me around a little, but he told me he‘d never do it again and he makes the best ham and cheese omelettes I’ve ever tasted!” And what the hell is Sean “diddy-I’ll have a different stupid name next year-” Combs doing facilitating this dysfunctional reconciliation by having Rihanna and Chris as his house guests?

Okay, I understand wanting to give someone the benefit of the doubt. I believe in second chances, sometimes, and I don’t think holding a grudge is healthy or productive.

We all have to decide which relationships are worth fighting for and which ones we need to jettison. We’ve all had relationships we thought were over but discovered are really salvageable. Maybe we were too harsh, or too quick to judge. Maybe the grass wasn’t greener on the other side of the fence.

And Rihanna? Chris Brown can come home from the bar stinking drunk and you can forgive him. Chris Brown can come home stinking drunk from the bar and activate the home security system on your mansion because he can‘t remember the code and you can forgive him. Chris Brown can come home from the bar stinking drunk, activate the home security system on your mansion because he can‘t remember the code, and then pee in your bed after he passes out in it, and you can forgive him.

And you can actually forgive Chris Brown for beating the shit out of you. What’s not very smart is for you to get back together with him.

I don’t have any first hand experience with domestic violence and I‘ve never walked a mile in Rihanna‘s high-heeled shoes. I can’t say, without a doubt, that Chris Brown will hit Rihanna again. However, I do wholeheartedly believe in the axiom that past behavior is the best predictor of future behavior.

If you’re going to give a relationship a second chance, make sure it’s a safe one. (Whisper) Like, maybe a relationship with the guy who used to do your nails.

What? Oh that. I’ve just been wondering if maybe I made a hasty decision. Maybe my Top Nails boyfriend wasn’t so bad after all. He certainly never whacked me in the head while he was doing my nails. His hands, though clammy, have always been very gentle.

And lately I’ve been thinking about him. I remember his goofy little smile. I can picture him bundled up in his striped woolen sweater. And even though I went on and on about the new girl at Elegant Nails, I think my Top Nails boyfriend makes prettier shaped fingernails. Maybe Top Nails would turn the television channel to E! so I wouldn’t have to be tortured by One Life to Live.

And it wouldn’t kill me to Rosetta Stone myself up a little by learning a second language. With all the effing around I do on the computer might it be possible to use Google to learn how to say a few Mandarin pleasantries like “nice job” and “how are you doing today?” while I’m mastering the rest of the language? It’s not like my Top Nails boyfriend and I got divorced. We’re “on a break” so the door is still open for me to return if I feel like it. I don’t have to decide anything until next week, which is when my fingernails will start to look kinda scary, and in dire need of a fill.

Anyway, I understand how a woman might want to return to a relationship that, at one time, seemed to be going well. How, after a period of reflection, and a little distance, you can re-evaluate your feelings and maybe give someone another chance.

But back to you Rihanna. I don’t think it’s ever a good idea to return to someone who hit you. Ditch that loser; you don’t need him for anything. And Chris? Pull your pants up, you look like a fucktard. Gangsta’ chic is almost as ridiculous as those silly pants MC Hammer used to wear. You’re about as gansta’ as I am so knock it off. And quit hitting women.

In the words of Kenny Rogers, You gotta know when to walk away, know when to run. And Rihanna sweetie, you need to run. I think a continued relationship with Chris Brown is a big gamble. But of course you aren’t going to listen to me. Good luck girlfriend.

My Review of Slumdog Millionaire

As some of you know, I had reservations about seeing the movie Slumdog Millionaire because I wasn’t sure I could handle the violence and disturbing images. I was practically stopping strangers on the street, begging for spoilers so I could prepare myself for anything that might have a profoundly negative effect on me. Kristi talked me down from the wall a little bit by telling me, via Facebook, that there were some disturbing images but nothing that would keep me from sleeping at night.

Since Dave shot down my last minute lobby for Confessions of a Shopoholic, I had no choice but to pull up my big girl pants and deal. Our babysitter arrived and we found out she had seen the movie. When I grilled her about “bad scenes“ or scenes where something bad happens to children she kinda didn’t look me in the eye. However, she did say it was a great movie and that it would make me appreciate how fortunate we are.

This would be a good time for me to mention that if you haven’t seen the movie, but plan to, probably you should stop reading this post RIGHT NOW. Because I am going to basically go through the whole movie and I don’t want to spoil it for anyone. So, don’t read any more if you haven’t seen the movie yet, OK?

The movie is about two brothers named Salim and Jamal Malik who live in the slums of Mumbai, India. Though I’ve heard people say it is a true story, it’s not. It’s based on the novel Q & A by Vikas Swarup.

The movie begins by showing an adult Jamal being interrogated, and then subsequently tortured by a police inspector and his guard. The beating grows increasingly more violent but Jamal will not tell the men the words they want to hear. They resort to torturing him with electricity, hooking clamps to his toes and chest. Jamal still won’t admit anything, even after losing consciousness and spitting blood. The police inspector asks him, “What can a slumdog know? “ He tells them, “I know the answers.”

Next, the movie switches to a flashback format and we see Jamal and Salim become orphaned at a very young age after their mother is killed in the Hindu-Muslim riots. They are left homeless, without any means of feeding or sheltering themselves. Latika, a young girl who has also been orphaned, joins them. Jamal lobbies for her inclusion in their band of refugees telling Salim, “She can be our third musketeer.”

The three children are approached by a man named Maman and taken to his orphanage. They are given plenty of food and the young orphans think he must be a good man if he’s giving them this much to eat.

All the children are taught a song. Young Salim is shown assisting the men in the orphanage as a young boy performs the song. Once the boy has finished the men chloroform him and drop boiling oil by a spoon into his eyes. The rationale is that blind orphans will bring more money when begging on the streets, which is what all the orphans will be forced to do.

The men tell Salim to go get Jamal and Salim realizes instantly what they plan to do. When he goes to get Jamal, he discovers that Jamal is excited and can’t wait to sing the song, obviously knowing nothing of the plan to blind him. Salim tells Jamal to do exactly as he says and after Jamal sings, Salim reaches the hot oil first, throws it in the face of one of the men, and screams for Jamal to run, shouting “Athos.” Jamal replies “Porthos!” and takes off after him. Those are the names of two of the three musketeers.

Jamal does not want to leave Latika behind so they grab her too. Unfortunately, Jamal and Salim make it onto a train going by but Salim lets go of Latika’s hand (intentionally) and Haman and his men capture her.

Jamal and Salim survive by giving tours of the Taj Mahal (complete with facts they’ve made up) and by stealing, and then selling, the shoes of tourists. Jamal never forgets about Latika and wonders if she’s alive.

Jamal goes to where the orphans are begging and tracks down the boy who was blinded. He is singing and hoping for money. Jamal gives him a one hundred dollar bill and the blind boy asks Jamal to tell him the name of the president on the front of it. Jamal tells him “Benjamin Franklin.” Jamal asks if Latika is still alive and the blind boy says yes.

Jamal and Salim return to Mumbai in search of Latika. They find her and discover that Maman has forced her to work as a dancer in a brothel. They rescue her and as they are leaving, Maman and his men confront them. Maman says he never forgets a face but before he can do anything to Jamal, Salim, and Latika, Salim pulls a gun on Maman and forces him to his knees. Maman, upon realizing that he is not in a good position, begins to beg for his life. Salim, in what is a turning point for his character, shoots him dead because he knows that Maman will never stop trying to seek revenge on the brothers for rescuing Latika.

Even though I abhor violence and was anxious about seeing the movie because of it, I couldn’t help, even at the risk of sounding hypocritical, being happy that Salim shot Maman. Well, maybe not happy. But totally on board with it because it was necessary to ensure the survival of Jamal, Salim, and Latika. And Maman was a very bad person who got what he deserved.

After the three left, Salim got drunk and I felt like the murder he committed and the drinking was supposed to somehow signify that he no longer considered himself a child and was now a man. He also claimed Latika as his own, at least for the night, which seemed to break Jamal’s heart.

I found the duality of Salim’s character interesting. He was at times responsible for saving his brother yet also had total disregard for how some of his choices would affect Jamal.

Jamal loses track of Salim and Latika and eventually goes to work as a “tea-server” at a call center. He is asked to relieve one of the call center workers one day and while sitting at the desk, looks up his brother’s phone number and calls him.

They re-connect and Jamal learns that Salim is working for Maman’s enemy. Latika is forced to live with the man Salim works for.

Jamal goes to see her and tells her he will be waiting at the train station every day at 5:00. Latika tries to meet him but is captured again. One of the men slices her across the cheek with a large knife.

During the movie, childhood flashbacks are interspersed with Jamal answering questions on the Hindi version of Who Wants to be a Millionaire.

He is able to give the correct answers because he has encountered situations his whole life that coincidentally match up with the questions he is asked.

One of the questions is about a song and it’s the same song all the orphans learned from Haman. Another question asks whose face is on the one hundred dollar bill. He is also asked who invented the revolver (which is what Salim used to kill Haman).

At one point, Jamal goes to the bathroom during a break after he has already won quite a bit of money. The host of the show, an arrogant often hostile man (who is no Regis Philbin ) is in the bathroom at the same time as Jamal. When Jamal looks in the mirror after washing his hands, he realizes the host has written the letter B on the steamy mirror. Jamal goes back out, answers D, and gets the question right.

I knew the host was trying to give Jamal the wrong answer. I elbowed Dave in the side and said, “It’s not B, its D. There is no way, knowing what we know about Jamal’s character, that he would trust anyone, never having been able to most of his life.

The show breaks for the night, right before Jamal is asked the final question worth one million dollars. As he is heading out the back door, a hood is thrown over his head and he is transported to the police station for interrogation, as the host of the show believes he must be cheating. We’ve already seen most of the torture at the beginning of the movie and the scene ends with the Police inspector proclaiming that Jamal is telling the truth.

Salim decides to help Latika escape one more time, giving her his phone and telling her not to lose it. She tells him, “they’ll kill you” but he pushes her out the door and goes back inside.

The last question, for the million dollars, is what is the name of the third musketeer? Jamal needs to use a lifeline and the only one he has left is phone a friend. It’s Salim’s phone that rings and Latika finally answers it. Jamal is shocked that Latika, and not Salim is on the phone. He asks her who the third musketeer is and she says, “I don’t know. I never knew.” She tells him she is safe and time runs out.

Jamal doesn’t know the answer so he appears to guess (it’s Aramis). He gets it right and the audience goes crazy.

Meanwhile, Salim has locked himself in a bathroom, filled a tub with money, and waited for everyone to discover that he’s helped Latika escape. They break the door down and shoot him in a hail of bullets but not before he is able to kill the man responsible for enslaving Latika.

The movie ends with Jamal heading to the train station and this time, when Latika joins him, no one prevents them from being together.

As the final credits roll, the entire ensemble cast dances and sings in a musical number that is 100% Bollywood (I totally thought when they first started dancing that they were doing the choreography from Michael Jackson’s Thriller video but I was wrong).

This was a fantastic movie. The cinematography and the fast pace of the script kept me engaged and I never felt like the story dragged. This was also one of the most original films I have ever seen.

I think Slumdog Millionaire definitely earned the academy award for best picture. I will remember it as one of my favorite films of 2009. Go see it.

If I can handle it, anyone can.

Cupcakes, Vases, Birds, and Bees

My alarm goes off every weekday morning at 6:30 AM. I get up and let Chloe out and then I pour the first of eight cups of coffee (with a little soy milk) and sit down on the couch to watch the local news. Here in Iowa, our weather changes so fast, that I like to make sure I knew exactly how to dress the offspring and whether or not they will need boots, snow pants, and hats and gloves. Then, at 7:00, I watch the Today show for a half hour because Matt Lauer is hot and I need to know what’s going on nationally. Then, at 7:30, I wake up the offspring.

Today they woke up on their own and were both down on the couch with me by 7:15. They proceeded to talk so loud I couldn’t hear what hottie Matt Lauer was saying. Then Matthew demanded that I get his clothes because he wanted to get ready early so he’d have plenty of time to play Marble Blast Gold on the computer.

I told Matthew I was not doing anything until 7:30. Finally, when I was good and ready, I started our morning routine.

I am not a big fan of spending a lot of money on kid’s clothes. They are hard on them, they grow out of them almost immediately, and buying expensive stuff is like flushing money down a toilet. Old Navy and Gap are my favorites with a little Target thrown in.

I usually get the kid’s clothes ready the night before because I do want whatever they wear to match, be weather appropriate, and be wrinkle free (even though I loathe ironing I do it anyway).

However, this morning both kids did not like what I had selected and ironed the night before. Matthew’s pants “fit funny” (probably because he’s going through a growth spurt and keeps “incredible hulking” right out of his clothes). I ran upstairs and found another pair of pants that were, luckily, wrinkle free. Then he put on the new shirt I had pre-washed but hadn’t done a thorough tag-ectomy on so I had to grab the kitchen scissors and cut every possible tag off immediately.

Lauren was worse. She didn’t like her shirt because it was purple, her pants were too long, and the first sweater I picked out was too hot. I ran upstairs two more times and she finally settled on wearing black pants with a long sleeved white t-shirt and her Hawkeye jersey.

During all this up and down the stairs nonsense Matthew and Lauren took it upon themselves to get into the cupcakes Dave and Lauren made yesterday (she guilted Dave into making them by saying, “Daddy, can you please make me some egg free cupcakes? I didn‘t get to have any of the banana bread you made with Matthew the other day.”)

Then Matthew guilted Dave into making more banana bread because the bread they made the other day was “so awesome” and he wanted more.

The mess all three of them made was catastrophic and fully worthy of a haz-mat team. I refused to clean it up by myself but I wish I had insisted on loading the dishwasher because Dave loads it like a crazy person.

Therefore, even though I had offered a breakfast of smoothies and oatmeal there was no way to stop the feeding frenzy chocolate blizzard I found them in the middle of. Cupcake crumbs were flying when I returned to the kitchen.

When Lauren came back from brushing her teeth, I noticed the sleeve of her white t-shirt was covered in chocolate frosting. I went upstairs one last time, grabbed the only remaining long sleeved white t-shirt in her closet, and made her change.

I kept my cool though. Sometimes I have to remind myself that they are not intentionally trying to drive me insane. I pretended the cupcakes were the same as donuts, which, while not healthy, are in fact a common breakfast choice for lots of people, and I let it go. Luckily, we are not in the PMS zone so things went pretty smoothly for a Monday morning.

Yesterday we went to Pier 1 because I’m looking for a vase for my mantel to replace the red one with the snowflakes I’ve had up there since December. I really wanted to go alone but Dave wanted to get out of the house too and we promised Matthew and Lauren we would go to Toys ‘R Us, which is right across the parking lot from Pier 1. Matthew had a gift card to use and Lauren wanted to pick out a marble jar reward (Matthew’s reward was the aforementioned Marble Blast Gold).

When we got to Pier 1 I said, “Hey, why don’t you guys and daddy go over there and I’ll be over here looking at some vases.” I took off and when I stopped thirty seconds later to examine a vase, I was summarily rear-ended by Dave, Matthew, and Lauren (in that order).

“Why are you following me?” I asked. “Go somewhere else.”

They just kept following me anyway. Dave kept suggesting things I didn’t want and then both kids had to go to the bathroom. I finally found a vase I liked but now that I’ve put it up on the mantel, I don’t know if I like it there. I might like it somewhere else which means one vase will be the catalyst for me to move around and re-arrange every home accessory I have on my main floor.

Dave also decided to have “the talk” with Matthew over the weekend. When I met Sharon and Kathleen on Friday morning for a big gabfest, the subject of the birds and the bees came up. Kathleen has three boys, one of them older than Matthew so I asked her what age we should start talking to Matthew about sex.

“Right now,” she replied. “It’s not too early and you don’t want him to get inaccurate information on the bus or from older kids.”

I told Dave what Kathleen recommended and he went up to Matthew’s room yesterday and opened the dialogue. I told Dave that Kathleen recommended asking Matthew about what he already knew and then going from there. I also told Dave that Kathleen mentioned stopping if Matthew appeared to stop paying attention as we shouldn’t overload him all at once.

When Dave came back down, I asked him how it went. Dave said he told Matthew that there would be lots of changes going on in his body and that these changes would take several years. He told Matthew that hair would start to grow under his arms and on his penis. He also mentioned that some boys grow hair above their lips. He briefly talked about body parts and how some of them might feel good when touched and that that’s totally normal but something that should be kept private. Dave said at one point Matthew started spinning around in his swivel desk chair. When Dave asked Matthew if he had any questions, Matthew nodded. “Dad, when do you think I’ll get that moustache?”

I think that’s enough birds and bees information for one day. We’ll keep building on that and by the time Matthew turns ten this summer, we’ll hopefully have given him the information he needs to ease his way into the puberty years.

As for Dave and I, we had a great time Saturday night when we saw Slumdog Millionaire. I’m in the middle of writing my review which I’ll post later today or tomorrow.

Right now, I’ve got a vase to find a home for.