I promised you, guilty pleasure sweetums, that I’d let you know how you were doing when it came to your greeting cards. A few months ago, I hilariouslyrudely chastised those who merely scribble their name inside birthday/holiday cards, which, thinking back, is pretty ironic (can you rudely correct rudeness? Or do they cancel each other out?). I’ve heard from many of you since then; in fact, other than my flask story, it’s the post that seems to have made the biggest ripple through my inner circle. (Don’t be fooled. There is no outer circle.)
The outcome? You care, you really, really care! I see it, and I’m proud of you. You made my day(s). Just look (click on any of the pictures to enlarge):
Food shows! First, it was Bizarre Foods with Andrew Zimmern on the Travel Channel, where Zimmern suddenly dropped into his monologue that he was homeless for a year. With no explanation.
And now? The same thing happened on Extreme Chef (Food Network) last week! One of the contestants casually mentioned in his voiceover, as I watched him run inside an ice warehouse for a rabbit carcass, that he had been homeless. Once again, no explanation. My husband looked at me and waited. I was already gesturing aggressively towards the T.V.
“Again?” I cried.
“I know! You should write about it,” he replied enthusiastically. “That is weird.”
“Is it a chef thing?” we wondered. Is that why they don’t mind the 100-degree kitchen and unreasonable hours? And why they always want to be surrounded by food? Any food?
Of course, this also had me going back through life’s little gems so I could provide you with a new list of conversation bombs. Yes, these are all things people have actually said to me. Give a girl some warning, wouldja?
“You have really huge pupils.”
“You don’t have to go home for Father’s Day. I can find you some fathers.”
“I like all kinds of houses. Except bi-levels.” (I live in a bi-level.)
“It’s a good thing you lost weight. A girl your age shouldn’t be fat.”
“We bought a pet scorpion.”
“New York City. Where is that?”
And a special guest contribution from my hubster, Peppermeister – a conversation he had at work [with a fellow teacher] some years ago:
Ms. Teacher: Do you know anyone who wants a dog?
Peppermeister: No, why? Are you getting rid of your dog?
Ms. Teacher: Yeah. My husband’s leaving me, and taking the house, and the apartment I’m living in doesn’t allow pets.
Since then, I’ve come up with all kinds of ways to amuse myself at his expense. Mostly in the form of nicknames, which change on at least a biweekly basis*. (Current nickname: Schnoodle. Because he looks like a noodle, it rhymes with poodle, and he’s just so darn…schnoodly. Don’t you think?)
We also call him a ‘man’ instead of a ‘boy’. He’s a good man. A smart man. “Come here,
man.” Along with his name, it tends to confuse people, so we keep doing it.
I also like replacing dog-related phrases and commands with things that are ticklier to my fancy. “Fetch,” for example, has become an appreciative, “Thank you.” As in, “Thank you in advance for bringing me that toy. It was so very kind of you.” Works like a charm.
My favorite canine comic relief comes from what we say instead of, “Wanna go for a walk?” Instead we simply shout, with appropriate fervor, “Holy shit!” No explanation necessary. Just watch:
*P.S. – For the record, yes, he does answer to “Uncle Jesse”. No one ever believes me!
P.P.S. – We plan on dressing him up as a wedge of cheese this Halloween. Get it? A Cheese DOODLE! Also works for an Uncle Sam costume: A Yankee DOODLE!
You guys are so cool. I love everything about you. Especially the way you furrow your eyebrows and tilt your head when you read my blog. It’s so cute. What I’m trying to say is… I want this to work out. I really do. But I don’t know how much longer I can wait.
Why aren’t we talking about my blog banner photo?!
I really hope seeing it didn’t make you think I was more sensitive or introspective or beautiful than I really am. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I am all of those things, but that wasn’t the point.
It’s the epitome of guilty pleasure, in all its glorious, self-serving cheesiness!
Let me take you back in time. To last night, I mean.
I decided to order tickets to “Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part 2” for next Saturday – the first showing, at 11:30am, like the old lady I am. Normally I enjoy ridin’ solo to the movies, but since they’re all now dine-in theaters around these parts, I feel a little awkward going alone. Thus, I told my sweet manly husband he had to accompany me.
“But I’ve never seen any of the movies,” he argued.
I merely grinned. “You have time to watch them all before next Saturday!”
“I haven’t read the books,” he reminded me.
His protests fell on deaf ears, but then he, like most married folk will eventually do, wizened up and busted out the Big C. No, no, geesh, the other one. Compromise.Condescension.
“How about you make a 5-minute presentation so I’m prepared?” he smirked.
“Yes! I would love to do that!” I exclaimed gleefully. I wasn’t about to let his sarcasm stand in the way of this incredible opportunity to not only write about Harry Potter in bulleted format, but also to use my knock-off PowerPoint software (thanks, Macintosh).
I got cracking right away, and at 10:30pm last night (well past my bedtime), it was ready. “It” being…
The most SPELLBINDING [less-than-]5-minute Harry Potter presentation you’ll ever see, sure to get any HP half-wit ready for the final installment!!!!!
I was just YouTube-searching Anna Graceman, an amazing 11-year-old singer I saw on America’s Got Talent, when I came across this hilarious video. I can only imagine this is her at 5-years-old (does anyone know??).
You really should check out Anna Graceman’s YouTube channel by clicking here. Or, watch her performance from America’s Got Talent right now! (Warning: remove socks first, unless you want them blown off.)
I have a theory about how we achieved this impressive embarrassing status. It’s quite simple. The CEO of Nasdaq lives in our town. That’s got to throw off the whole average, right?
New Jersey, the most densely populated state in the U.S., has a reputation for housing a number of the world’s wealthiest, no doubt given our proximity to New York City, and Snooki’s poof. I was sure Russell Simmons’ stomping grounds of Bergen County would make the top of the list. (Click here for a neat WordPress article about stars in Bergen County.)
Not this place:
Does it change anything, you ask? Will I refuse to cross county borders now for fear that I might breathe in fumes of the poor? Will I now get to pronounce the ‘t’ in ‘often’ without feeling douche-y? Look for preschools for my yet-to-be-conceived children? Receive a special membership card? I just got an invitation for a Visa black card yesterday…was that it in disguise?
I’ll keep you posted. For now I’m going to go back to eating Ramen noodles in front of the fan.