Griper's Delight

OMG

2006-03-22T10:30:00.000-08:00

OK, it finally happened to me. What seems like 86 seasons in, I have finally succumbed to American Idol. At first I claimed I was not that into it - just enjoyed the goofy auditions. Then I was willing to admit I was getting hooked, but in an ironic sort of way; I would never even consider voting. Well, here I take my first step and admit I have a problem - I am a full-fledged fan. Three reasons - Chris Daughtry, Simon Cowell, TiVo.

Chris rocks. No, really, he rocks! No one rocks anymore, they sing these creepy ballads and make their voices soar simply because they can. And, in the case of women singers (or "the chicks" as I call them), they feel the needs to flap their arms like Mariah Carey (is that where her butterfly obsession started?). No, Chris really rocks. I would go out and buy his album now. Really, right now, with the magic of iTunes. Even with that freakishly surgically altered Barry Manilow assisting his preparation, he turned out the most awesome "I Walk the Line" that just, well, rocked. It sounded like rock, a genre that is usually utterly mislabeled, and, again, rocks.

Next, Simon Cowell. First, I have to mention Randy and Paula. Were they given lobotomies as children - or did they merely have their eardrums cauterized? They are amazed by anyone who can stand up on stage with their shirts properly buttoned. And Paula, she just doesn't quit her coy leering (yes, you can leer coyly - go practice in the mirror). But Simon, he is spot on. Brilliant, really. Of course he could say things more kindly, but why should he. Any comments he makes are counterbalanced by those two fools to his right. And, surely these horrific performers have been criticized in the past, but they have clearly chosen to disregard those critics as "jealous of my god-given talent," so they need to hear the straight shit. Plus, this is tv - how much fun would it be to hear them all agree?

And last, TiVo. Surely somewhere someone has written a bracha for TiVo. TiVo allows me to speed right through those painful performers, straight through to Simon's scathing comments, with which I always agree. Then I can sit back and feel superior. Isn't that what so much of this show is about?

Bottom line is, I am forced to admit that through American Idol I have found a new performer I love, Chris Daughtry. I will buy his albums. I will even call the American Idol toll free number and vote for Chris. I will walk the line.

2006-02-14T17:40:00.000-08:00

I loved this paragraph, although I am horrified to note that the concept originated with Nora Ephron, a woman who singlehandedly ruined the genre of romantic comedy:

The home-economics trap involves superior female knowledge and superior female
sanitation. The solutions are ignorance and dust. Never figure out where the
butter is. “Where’s the butter?” Nora Ephron’s legendary riff on marriage
begins. In it, a man asks the question when looking directly at the butter
container in the refrigerator. “Where’s the butter?” actually means butter my
toast, buy the butter, remember when we’re out of butter. Next thing you know
you’re quitting your job at the law firm because you’re so busy managing the
butter. If women never start playing the household-manager role, the house will
be dirty, but the realities of the physical world will trump the pull of gender
ideology. Either the other adult in the family will take a hand or the children
will grow up with robust immune systems.

This perfectly describes why I feel I cannot work full time, and sometimes feel I can not work at all. I could spend all of my time filling out reading logs for school, cleaning out the dustbuster, preparing snacks, meeting with child therapists of every shape and variety. How sad - magna cum laude, phi beta kappa and I need to stay home to buy the butter, something I personally get no satisfaction out of whatsoever. Are there those that do? I hope my PhD and MD stay-a-home friends do.

It's My Midlife Crisis And I'll Cry If I Want To

2006-02-09T18:25:00.000-08:00

For want of a more creative term, and lacking the energy to think of one, I have decided to label my ongoing existential crisis a 'midlife crisis.' Given my age, I'm a little early to have one, so I label myself precocious. While I speak glibly of "the crisis," it really is just that. Feelings encountered on a daily basis, often in a span of less than 5 minutes, include, and are not limited to, confusion, anger, disillusionment, and helplessness.

Perhaps it is an identity crisis. Still cliche. My disillusionment (or my naivete) with where I find myself in my life is seemingly bottomless.

Specifics please. Specifically, I have been a mother for seven years and I still am stunned to find myself wiping shit off the potty seat (or the floor, or the chair). I didn't expect it. Yes, of course, what did I expect when I decided to have children? It is all the mundane things I do every day, that eat up inordinate quantities of my time that I just cannot get over. I can't believe I am out buying food again (and of course, at 10 PM, after work and kids are both put to bed). It never stops. Here I am yelling at my older one to do her homework. Just like I did every single other night this week. Oh, and that's me over there emptying the dishwasher just to refill it and empty it again.

Then there's work. Because filling my nights and weekends with buying and preparing food, doing homework, washing laundry, writing notes to teachers, buying children's shoes, making doctors' appointments, filling out the book log, and emptying the refrigerator is not enough. I have a job. A corporate job. Let me describe it for you. Whoops, can't. It just defies description. I asked my counterpart there just today to describe what we do. She said "manage projects" and I'll take her at her word. Put aside the fact that it pays bills and is a very necessary part of this family's income. It does NOTHING for me.

On a bad day my job makes me feel stupid, humiliated. And I don't mean the people at my job do that, because they are great (and there's a certain irony there). It's the job itself. When I make a mistake at work it is all more upsetting to me because I DON'T CARE. I have made myself look bad, even if only to myself, over something about which I DON'T CARE. That may not make sense to you. Somehow if I was passionate about my work and I made a mistake it would be excusable. But to have a job that you believe fills no role in improving mankind (or even one man's situation) and one that does not fulfill you in any way, and then to fuck up, it's just devastating.

So, today's feelings of anger and disillusionment were triggered by a young partner at my firm. He just moved into an window office near me and he is surely several years younger than me. When I saw him today and he waved a nice friendly hello, it suddenly became obvious to me that my entire floor is populated by a ring of young men (partners) on the outer edges, in the window office, and women, mostly older than the men, filling lower paying, less-respected roles in the cubicles in the middle. And what should make me feel better, but actually makes me feel worse is that I don't even want to be partner.

Somehow this is not where I thought I would be. While I had no specific life in mind, I did know it would be a special one. I just knew it. I really might have thought I would be famous for something, just what that something would be never really got fleshed out. So you can all laugh at my naivete and how it took me 37 years to realize that my life would not be special or stand out or be any more than a sum of the grocery lists I have written my life, but that is really the case.

And when I am feeling at my absolute worst, it is this that I focus on. And when I am feeling at my absolute worst, it is when I feel there is the most hope. Because I feel so, so out of place in my life, I know that I must do something about it, that propelled by my anger I will figure it out, shape my life into a more fulfilling one. And when I am not feeling at my worst I feel the most hopeless, because that anger is dulled and I may stay where I am forever.

Let's examine for a moment what I mean by fulfilling. A job, a role that is satisfying. My husband asked me if I might feel better doing something for others. NO! NO! I want to do something for me. I want to do something defiantly selfish. WHat that is and how I will get paid for it remains a mystery. Regardless, I don't want to help people. I want to do something I like and I don't even know what that is. Don't read anything about me into this - the only volunteer work I have done is for the girls' school, and even that has not been altruistic. If we're being honest.

An Introduction of Sorts

2006-01-04T18:02:00.000-08:00

New York City, I would like to introduce you to "excuse me." "Excuse me," please meet New York City.

Now, New York City, let me explain how "excuse me " works. You seem to think "excuse me" is to be used after, or even during an offense. As in, give someone a nice shove, say "excuse me," and return to screeching into your cellphone.

Even worse, you sometimes forget all about "excuse me." Take the man that literally moved me out of his way today. I must have been where this man wanted to walk, so he just gripped me by the shoulders and set me aside. He must be related to the man in the supermarket who moved my 7 year-old, by the head no less, out of his way this past Monday.

In these cases, I typically yell, "The phrase you are looking for is EXCUSE ME!!" I am sure that this nugget of information is welcomed by one and all. Slowly, person by person, I am making New City a nicer kinder to live. Have a nice fucking day.

What IS This?

2005-12-12T21:02:00.000-08:00

No one has yet been able to clearly explain to me what "Scentstories" are. I mean, I know that they are horrific, that much is clear. What could a "scent story" even pretend to be? Maybe a 'gym' scentstory. Cleanish smell, followed by increasingly strong waves of sweat, followed by the aromas of soap, deodorant and hair product.

Regardless, they now proudly proclaim that Scentstories come in "candle-like" scents. So, candles are created replicating - poorly - scents found naturally. And now, we can torture our olfactory organs with Scentstories that poorly replicate candles that in turn poorly replicate what might actually have begun as amusing, intriguing, pleasing scents.

Please buy me one!!! Buy me the Scentstories "gift box." That is really what I want. Not jewelry. Not electronics. Please, get me artificial scents in a very expensive dispenser.

Why?

2005-12-05T10:55:00.000-08:00

Eckerd gift card
Zale's commercial with a man buying an engagement ring and the song "Pressure" playing in the background
Chevy Chase

BK

2005-12-01T10:04:00.000-08:00

Back before I had kids, BK, there were any number of activities I 'indulged' in. If people knew what having children really meant (and I don't mean the sappy, 'precious moments' aspects of parenthood), I really wonder if they would still have them.

Things I did pre-kids I would not dream of doing now:

Take a bath
Run an errand on the way home from work
Go out to eat on the spur of the moment
Eat in a restaurant that did not necessarily serve plain pasta or french fries
Take an uninterrupted shower
Spend any time at all in the bathroom without interruption
Stay at work until I finished my work
See a movie in a theater- not Chicken Little, either, as I did this past weekend
Buy a Coach bag
Buy clothes at places other than the Gap or Old Navy
Get my hair cut at a nice place
Get my hair colored before it's stripey
See a concert with no notice
Do ANYTHING with no notice
Fall asleep on the beach
Fall asleep in the park
Fall asleep on the bus
Wake up later than 6:30. Every day. Including weekends!

Mr. Towelhead Sees a Movie

2005-11-24T18:31:00.000-08:00

In an earlier posting I mentioned this man:

I was looked at the way I looked at the man walking down Broadway yesterday with a bathroom towel wrapped around his head.

OK, I should have given a more detailed description. It's just that here in New York there are lot of characters. Really, crazies. So you just begin to not even notice them - it takes something wildly off kilter to get a rise out of us. Example - the man walking down Broadway with his pants belted below his ass. And no underwear on. Even then, with someone's full manhood on display, we all acted as if nothing at all was amiss.

OK, back to towelhead. I saw a man walking, again down Broadway, with a fringed hand towel on his head. Actually he was kind of mincing, and poking a finger against the side of his head to hold the towel in place, because, really, towels don't just remain in place on your head while you stride jauntily down a city street. Turns out he's a neighborhood regular, but he usually wears a more complete ensemble that includes a robe and slippers. Of course, he always keeps that finger pressed against the towel.

So my friend goes to the movies today, and sitting right behind her is the man in question, with an empty seat on either side of him. The theater is full and a couple approaches Sir Handtowel and requests that he move down so that they may sit together. He demurs. They take seats on either side of him and continue their conversation, loudly, over his head. Then, they begin to hold hands - with their clasped hands in front of Towely, brushing his chest!

OK - so this little story explains why I love New York. In any other city, if you saw a man wearing a towel (with his finger pressed against it, no less) in a movie theater, you would not approach him at all, let alone try to sit beside him. In any other city, if a person is asked to skootch over a seat, he would have skootched before the request was even fully vocalized. And, in any other city, if you were sitting on either side of a stranger, fringed hand towel for headgear or not, you would not hold hands across him. Now, how can we get all this in a neat little slogan and put on a souvenir t-shirt?

And the movie our friend Towely saw? 'Yours, Mine & Ours'

Confessions of a Thirtysomething Geek

2005-11-21T19:38:00.000-08:00

Cool - I have an iPod. A real big iPod - the size a real music lover would need. I am obsessed with it and listen to it endlessly.

Geek - It is loaded with thousands of classic rock songs. How cool can even the newest technology be when it is employed to play "Free Bird?"

Cool - I was an early adopter of the podcast.

Geek - I listen to science podcasts. Really. While the one on gene therapy could be possibly be overlooked, there is just no excusing the time I listened to an entire podcast on the latest findings on... tastebuds. Yes, that's right.

Cool - I listen to the iPod on its loudest possible volume and even then push those earbuds in far enough to risk cerebral injury.

Geek - I listen to the iPod on its loudest possible volume and even them push those earbuds in far enough to risk cerebral injury. What could be geekier than that, actually, given my age and my parental status? I'll tell you what's geekier, listening to Lynrd Skynrd at that volume. I promise you, I did not crank up the volume for that piece on tastebuds.

Life can be sad.

I Can't Believe It's Butter

2005-11-09T13:55:00.000-08:00

Very random. Still. When you order a bagel with butter here in New York City, home of the bagel, you do not get butter. Sure, they smear it with something that resembles butter, in color alone, if not consistency or flavor. It is more like a 'whipped grease product.'

In fact, I am fairly certain that if you look closely at the industrial sized vat it surely comes in, you will see, in large print, "Now with more grease - and twice the trans-fatty acids!!"

I know this because I order a bagel prepared this way pretty much daily.

Where's My Award?

2005-11-07T13:19:00.000-08:00

I packed my younger daughter's backpack with a tie on Friday, as requested by her preschool teacher. Why do I tell you this? Because I want recognition! I want someone to say to me, "Good job! Look at you! You did just what was asked of you!"

You are probably laughing disdainfully - or do people merely smirk disdainfully? Who the fuck knows. Anyway, the reason I need this affirmation, reward, thank you is twofold.

I am report card-driven. That's right, I was one of those straight-A students at a top college, and I still need that prize at the end of the task. Good for you - you did just what was asked - and here's your big fat A as proof.
I am busy, overwhelmed, crazy with responsibilities. Some of this work is of my own creation (see earlier picture of birthday party. I always go overboard and once overboard I dive down yet a little deeper). But apart from any self-made work, I really do have "a lot on my plate" as we so horribly say in the corporate world:

I have two daughters. My husband, despite my trying to beat it out of him, plays an incredibly traditional role in their maintenance. This means he does not:
Feed them
Clothe them
Oversee homework
Schedule/go to doctors' appointments - including separate appointments for flu shots, endocrinologists...
Buy them shoes (in NYC this is a painful task that should not be undertaken without prescription medication. It always involves a sign-in sheet and 45 minutes of your child pulling every shoe down off the wall and/or trying to kill herself sliding on those odd shoe-trying on chairs)
Pack ties
Fill out forms
My older, incredibly bright and lovely as she is, has developmental delays that necessitate 3 types of therapy (down from 4 last year! whoo hoo!). Does my husband coordinate these therapies? Please see above. "Team meetings" between teachers, psychologists and therapists are commonplace in my world. On a sidenote, when the corporate part of me tried to introduce the notion of "goals" and "milestones" to the therapeutic process, I was looked at the way I looked at the man walking down Broadway yesterday with a bathroom towel wrapped around his head.
I try to get involved in school activities. Some of this, I must admit, is because I want the school to know and value me and my family and in return work with my daughter in overcoming her issues.
I work about 35 hours a week - only 24 or so of it in the office, the rest is me frequently and frantically checking my voicemail and email. It may not be a positive thing that a man I had worked with virtually for 6 months did not even realize I was on 'reduced workload.'

Now, objectively I can tell that I have a lot to do, enough to make anyone crazy. But I still feel like an utter failure when I miss anything. Really. If I didn't send in that tie, I would believe I had let my daughter down, and that her teacher (her nursery school teacher, for god's sakes) would think less of me. And what if she did? I guess that is the topic for my next therapy session. Still, we end up where I started with my asking "Where is my prize! Where is my awards ceremony?" When I come home from doing my grocery shopping at 10 pm (after feeding and bathing my kids, doing homework, checking my work email), I want someone there at my door with a big giant solid gold-colored trophy to say "You really rock! I love how you remembered to pick up your sitter's favorite breakfast food! And how awesome a job you did picking out snacks?!"

Is that too much to ask for?

2005-11-06T19:40:00.000-08:00

Happy 3rd, Miss Charlotte! Alongside the famous, and beloved, Sammy. Does life get any better?

2005-10-22T17:49:00.000-07:00

Can we go in now?

Stop Smiling You Utter, Utter Morons

2005-09-22T11:15:00.000-07:00

I knew sooner or later I would see this, which is why I try to stay away from Ground Zero, which I work only yards from. 3 people posing in front of the site, big smiles on their faces, while a fourth snapped their photo. Then all 4 gathered around to see the digital image.

Let me make this clear. Ground Zero is the site of a mass murder. MURDER. You do not stand in front of it, big smiles plastered across your moron faces, and take a snapshot. People died right there. Whether they were flying in the planes that crashed into the buildings, or they were hit by debris, or they jumped from the windows, or they were incinerated by the heat, or they were trapped by the falling towers. They all died right there. Shut your idiot mouthes for just a second and think about that. You can head over to the Olive Garden later. Yes, we have one. Yes, it is just for you.

Are these folks heading down to New Orleans, cameras in hand, to snap similar pictures? God forbid. "Look, Ma, here I am in front of a house in which an elderly couple died awaiting help (while the President took a vacation and Condie shopped for pumps). Isn't utter human devestation so photogenic? Doesn't it pick up the blue in my eyes?"

Fair And Balanced

2005-09-22T11:12:00.000-07:00

This is a quote from a “role model interview” in my consulting company's Women's Advocate newsletter. The person answering is a man:

How do you balance work and life?
I have been married for nine years with a two year old daughter. I travel a fair amount, but when I am home over the weekend, I make sure to focus on my family and spend time with them.

Let me get this right. You work out of town all week. Then you spend the weekend with your family. We are supposed to applaud this as ‘balanced,’ when it seems no different than how consulting has always been practiced. Long hours away from your family, only weekends spent at home. But if we call it ‘balanced’ then it must be and we can pat ourselves on the back. Took a page of the Republican handbook on that one. This company so doesn’t rock.

Do I sound angry? Bitter? I am not. I am "fulfilled." Did you believe me just because I said it?

UPDATED Movies I Must Watch Every Time They Air As If Forced To By The Hand Of God

2005-09-19T20:51:00.000-07:00

Coal Miner's Daughter
Ocean's Eleven
Dirty Dancing
Silence of the Lambs
Lost in Translation
Almost Famous
Big
Catch Me if You Can (knock knock)
Quiz Show
Groundhog Day
Fight Club
The Breakfast Club
Fargo
Riding in Cars with Boys

I know there are more. I mean, I have to face the fact that I watch an ungodly amount (or if my above theorem is correct, a godly amount) of tv. Thoughts?

These Are A Few Of My Favorite Words

2005-09-01T07:08:00.000-07:00

psychopharmacologist
parenthetic

The Manolo He Likes Me, He Really Likes Me

2005-07-25T08:43:00.000-07:00

The Manolo sent me this email - now I am almost famous in my own mind!

Hello to the Bubbles!
Many thanks for your most amusing question. The Manolo
he must especially thank you because he has selected your question to be the
first he answers in his new column, in the Washington Post Express (It is the
daily free commuter paper, published by the Washington Post). Of the course,
your question it was most timely, arriving as it did before the visit to the
House of Whiteness by the girls in the flip-flops.
The brief column it will
appear in the Washington Post Express tomorrow, and the Manolo he will republish
it at his humble blog so that you may read it on the Wednesday.
Muchos
Besos!
Manolo
P.S. You are indeed super fantastic!
On Jun 16, 2005,
at 1:54 PM, Bubbles ((US - New York)) wrote:
Manolo,

Please tell me your take on the emergence of the flip-flop as the shoe of
choice for any and all occasions. Did they send out some memo to every
woman in the world, and mistakenly leave off my name from the distribution
list? Women in all manner of attire, including business attire, are
sporting flip flops. At least here in Gotham City, self-proclaimed center
of the universe.

What do you make of this (disturbing and loud)
trend?

Thank you,
Bubbles

More Freaks

2005-07-13T11:33:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I'm out and about in my NYC nabe and a woman approaches me. The woman looks fairly normal, except that she is wearing a shirt that says "Eastern Airlines," a company that has surely been defunct for the last 15 years. She proceeds to read me a short article about a crime-stopping parrot from one of the free dailies. "Yes," I agree, "that is amusing." "Yes," I agree once more, "it must be true."

After we part ways, I see her, paper in hand, approaching another unsuspecting victim. I want warn this poor woman until I get a closer look at her. She, too, looks pretty normal, in a t-shirt and flowy skirt, until I spot the big "Happy Birthday" sparkly tiara on her head. I say nothing. Perhaps the two will find that they are "kindred spirits," as Anne of Green Gables was fond of saying.

Now, again, I ask you - - would you see that in the suburbs?

I'M the freak??

2005-07-13T10:57:00.000-07:00

OK. This morning was another typical NYC subway commute. I sit down next to a woman with freakishly long fingernails. We're talking 6 inches past the quick. Like the picture you used to look up in your copy of the Guinness Book of World Records. Of course they are carefully polished in a metallic silver and embellished with stripes. I am, needless to say, intrigued.

Even more intriguing was when the woman made a face and beat it to another seat. Yes, she looked at me, possibly covered her nose with her hand (with those nails, pinching her nose closed is never an option) and moved away from me. I do have to add that I showered this morning, applied deodorant and sprayed on, what I believe to be a delightfully florally aromatic, Stilla perfume. Yes, I am the freak. Move away from the corporate woman with the laptop and the freshly pressed blouse.

Wild Dogs

2005-06-13T08:01:00.000-07:00

Don’t get me wrong. I love dogs. OK, I like them well enough, especially when they don’t grab food out of my kids’ hands or poke me with their snouts. But…

Is it really necessary to bring your damn dog with you everywhere you go? Is it? Let me remind you. This is not a child. It is not. You can dress it in clothes, you can make it people food, you can buy it a bed. It is still not a child. You do NOT need to, nor should you, drag that beast with you everywhere you go.

And, I should not witness the scene I witnessed this morning at the Gap: A woman calling after her dog in the store. “Cora, Cora, come back, Cora.” Yes, the dog was not even on a leash. And when the dog went her own way, the owner did not even feel compelled to go after her, just called weakly for her to return of her own volition.

And for those of you who will say they prefer a dog to a child any day, you damn breeders, let me just say this: A person gets arrested for leaving his child home; not so when you leave your mutt home, where he can dig into the dirty laundry and piddle on his favorite carpet.

Proof of Idiocy

2005-06-13T08:00:00.000-07:00

I have always hated this man. I was so right. Moxie CrimeFighter Jillette. Get that therapy fund going ASAP.

Did I Miss the Memo?

2005-06-11T18:24:00.000-07:00

Maybe you got it, but I did not. You know, the memo that told all us chicks that flip-flops are appropriate to wear at any and all times. I thought I missed the memo last summer, but now it seems I missed a second memo this summer that says you can even wear them to work in a corporate environment. When and how did this become acceptable? Were J. Crew, Old Navy and Abercrombie and Fitch meeting secretly in Oslo, planning this shoe revolution? (Truth be told, it is quite possible that my cousin and his wife, the original flip-flop couple, authored this memo.)

My email must have been down two summers ago when the communication went out around that everyone (and I mean everyone, kids under 5 included) was required to wear those $3 brightly colored mesh slippers with sequins. Only my sitter got it right, keeping a pair in my closet and only wearing them around the apartment as, get this!, slippers.

For purposes of complete disclosure, I must inform you, dear reader, that I am wearing ribbon flip-flops as I write this (Old Navy's copy of J. Crew thongs).

American Toes, Please

2005-06-09T07:52:00.000-07:00

Ladies, you must stop this at once! There is absolutely no reason whatsoever for the continuing practice of the French pedicure. Ewww, I can’t even think about it without my skin just crawling. The French pedicure makes the toenails look long, just as it does the fingernails. So – is that a look you want? Speak up, I can’t hear you.

The only thing creepier, really, is men with long fingernails. Oh, now I’m utterly creeped.

You are SO Right

2005-06-09T07:29:00.000-07:00

From Chris:

Just more evidence of the decline of western civilization, as we devolve into
selfish, self-righteous morons, driving SUVs to save our precious cargo (and
kill the poor suckers driving cars) and living in Mcmansions in gated so-called
"communities".

How could I have missed this - - the connection between the seat-pee-ers and the SUV'ers?! "My short term enjoyment is all that matters" - has that become our personal credo in this country? Or, as my father-in-law would say, "to hell mit you!"

McMansions bother me less, if only b/c I live in the city in a mere 1,100 square feet and have no car and as such no access to these Mcmansions in their, no doubt gated, " communities."

Stop the Pee!

2005-06-09T07:00:00.000-07:00

OK – what’s the deal with those of you whose tushes are just so refined and delicate they can’t sit on the toilet seat. Now, I know you don’t let your precious bum touch the seat because you are afraid of germs, afraid of getting one of the many serious pee-borne illnesses people die from.

So, instead, you take up that graceful squat position, with your beloved ass hovers over the seat. And that’s when it happens – you, super hygienic woman that you are – spray your urine all over the seat. For the next person. Because your little bottom is just too good to touch the seat, you leave the seat covered in your bodily excretion. That makes lots of sense. You suuuck!!

You Suuuck, Smokestack Secretary!!

2005-06-01T06:54:00.000-07:00

You Suuuck, Smokestack Secretary!!
OK, so I start my new job today and show up to meet with the secretary, as she requested, who is of course 15 minutes late. When I ask her a few simple, I would think expected, first day questions like who to contact about setting up my phone, where the key is to my desk, and where to get a new ID, the woman freaks out, literally yelling at me, "I just got here and you are asking me a dozen questions! Can't you let me sit down! Can't you give me some time?!"I am so sorry, fat-assed, smoke-addicted secretary! I thought when you were planning to meet me at 9 am to orient me you would meet me at 9 am and orient me.I am sure I don't have to tell you that as soon as I left her desk, she proceeded to make a personal phone call.

Are You KIDDING me?

2005-06-01T06:29:00.000-07:00

Overheard at work today... "There's a new Herbie movie coming out. The old one was so funny!" What?! Are you clinically insane?! I saw that at age 8 and couldn't stand it. Are we so wiped out on the creativity front in this country that we have to remake bad movies about antrhopomorphized autos? What's next? Remakes of all the John Hughes movies? Remakes of the Omen series? I know, let's remake that Michael Jordan animated movie!

Ally Sheedy's in the House

2005-05-26T06:49:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I had to do a conference call from a coffee bar. Yes, that's right, the uber-professional atmosphere of a coffee bar. And right at the next table was Ally Sheedy, of brat pack fame! Admittedly, I have seen her before, but I loved the contrast of myholding this work call while she sat at the next table. I so wanted to tell my colleague on the phone, but Pavel Natarajan, having been raised in India, probably would have missed the pop culture reference. And surely Ally Sheedy did not need to hear me go over her entire acting resume.

(OK, what I really wanted to do was hang my head over my notebook on the table in front of me and scratch my scalp and shake my hair until dandruff snow rained down all over.)

This brings me to my celebrity siting earlier this week. I had just run into my upstairs neighbors who are moving next month. They felt stricken because it was a beautiful day in the neighborhood - really. Because they are moving and will miss the digs. I volunteered that in the summer NYC smells incredibly of urine (and some vomit) and that surely their tony new area will not. As I left them, though, I saw comedian extraordinaire Al Franken and told my two year old "You won't find THAT in the suburbs." And you won't. Not even in Brooklyn. Take that, you Westport-bound drones!

UnMemorable Weekend

2005-05-26T06:40:00.000-07:00

Here it comes, sneaking up on us again. While the rest of the world seems to have anticipated the approach of Memorial Day weekend (do they have some sort of print out that lists when the holidays are, maybe organized month by month), my family is completely taken by surprise at its sudden arrival. Big plans for the weekend include whining and yelling at each other, with some tantrums thrown into the mix.

Truly, all I hope to accomplish is maybe, just maybe get out of my upper west side neighborhood for a bit. Maybe visit the parts of this great city that people come from all parts of the world to see. Not Times Square, of course, and, god forbid, not Macy's. But I am told there are museums here somewhere, intersting ethnic neighborhoods (complete with ethnic foods!) and even historic architecture. Strangely enough, none of these things are found within the 5 block radius in which I spend my non-working hours. Wish me luck - and the strenght to overcome the husband's general malaise. (At the very least, couldn't he muster up some ennui?)

Carrie Underwood Carrie Underwood Carrie Underwood Carrie Underwood

2005-05-23T19:39:00.000-07:00

tiny sluggah

2005-05-23T19:38:00.000-07:00

li'l sulggah

Joke of the Day

2005-05-23T06:14:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow I will regret posting this. Today I am enjoying it.

Q: How many Bush Administration officials does it take
to screw in a light bulb?

A: None. There is nothing wrong with the light bulb;
its conditions are improving every day. Any reports of its
lack of incandescence are a delusional spin from the liberal
media. That light bulb has served honorably, and anything you
say undermines the lighting effect. Why do you hate
freedom?

I Hate You!

2005-05-19T11:00:00.000-07:00

Check out I am a Hateful Bitch, otherwise known as ShutUpIHateYou, if you please. Now this is what I like. Someone complaining about the offensively abrasions they face daily. I might choose "You Suck" or "You SO Suck." I must use the word "suck" as I was not allowed to as a kid. The same logic explains why I eat so much sugared cereal as well as why I must have gold ballet flats I did not get in junior high, despite putting them on my Chanukah shortlist.

I wonder what I am denying my darlings that they will have to make up for later. As I always say, start that therapy fund early.

Lofty Aspirations of Line Cutting

2005-05-18T12:50:00.000-07:00

OK. So there I am at lunch, waiting to try on some pants at Loft. Yes, more black pants because it is not embarrassing enough that sometimes I pull black pants out of my closet that I don't even remember ever buying.

As I am waiting, with a line of women behind me, a woman strides in, past all of us, and proceeds to look for an empty fitting room. Of course I bellow, "Miss! There is a line!" And she explains, "Oh, I was just asking." Only she didn't ask anyone anything.

By that she really meant, "I thought I'd walk in and see if I could just pass all you chumps and try these items on. I mean, I don't want to wait behind you fools. I want look at myself in a mirror right now!"

These things happen all the time. And I am always the person to call the offenders on it. And my husband is always the person to not ever notice - or 100 times worse! - not even care! How could you not care?! I could kill over less!

Go figure why I have low blood pressure and hubby takes meds for his hypertension. Might I recommend screaming at people to relieve a little of that hypertension?

$$$

2005-05-16T13:43:00.000-07:00

I have recently made a huge - - or in Donald Trump terminology 'yooj' - - discovery. And that is, all I need to ease my problems is some money. That's it - it's that simple. The only thing I have to do now is figure out how to get me some of this money. Still, I am halfway there.

More and more it seems to me that people are not living independently, but sponging off their parents. Does the term 'sponging' seem pejorative? It is sponging when someone else's parents give them money. I don't know what kinder term I would use if I were being handed money, but since that is not the case, I do not need to consider the proper term for very long. With houses costing what they do in the NYC metro area, how else do you explain everyone snapping up real estate? One friend suddenly has the $75,000 payment to go to contract. Poof - out of the air, there it is.

(Did you think I was going to be nicer about this? Surely not. Or even 'surly' not. This is griping.)

You know, you just feel like an idiot. Work and work and scrape to buy something and watch everyone else just take that handout. Actually, I guess the word I am looking for is jealous. I feel like my friend KB's 5 year old daughter Sarah, who upon feeling this emotion always shouts "JEALOUS!" If I did that thought, I'd probably never stop.

What's Yer Name... Catcher?

2005-05-06T19:08:00.000-07:00

So, it turns out the famous, emmy-award winning film editor Holden Kepecs has been reading Griper's Delight. A special shout-out to him.

Shaun, Shaun, Shaun - and Parker, Too

2005-05-05T06:24:00.000-07:00

OK – don’t ask how I got into this, but I ended up looking up something about the Hardy Boys show. OK, well I’ll tell you - this book I am reading, The Virgin Suicides, quotes from a Bread song. And I remembered how Bread starred in a Hardy Boys episode. So then I had to go online check it out – surely someone out there had something to say about that. And then I read how the Hardy Boys had the BEST theme ‘song’ ever and so then I had to hear it. And I found it and it just so brought me back in time and was so just hiding in the back of my crowded little brain. You must hear it for yourself… You MUST: Click Here for Flashback Moment

Sigh.

PS bonus flashback

Target: Target

2005-05-03T16:56:00.000-07:00

I have many times said that one of the few things I would look forward to if I moved to the 'burbs would be Target. My love for target is well known and well documented (see my Visa bills for said documentation). Unfortunately for me (and for Target's bottom line), there is no Target located near me, and I have to limit my Target trips to out-of-town trips.

No more! I made the trip out to the Target at the relatively new Atlantic Terminal Mall in Brookly. Yes, putting my hatred of malls aside for the greater good of Target, I traveled there by train for 45 minutes and it was so worth it. Ahhh, Target. See my cousin's blog about her semester abroad in Australia here to learn that a love of Target is clearly genetic:

Also, I found both a Wal-mart and a Target today, so all is right with the
world. Oddly, the Target is called Target. and the Wal-mart is called the Big W,
but there’s no fooling me. When I’m buying a pack of two pillows for $7, I know
exactly where I am.

I have been to Target. Ahhh.... This must be what it feels like for an addict to get his fix. A rush, and then a sigh of relief.

Anyway, point is - with Target somewhat accessible to me from here in the city, what does the suburbs really have to offer?

Just Say No to the Suburbs

2005-05-02T18:14:00.000-07:00

So if you know me, you know that I - well all four of us - have truly outgrown our apartment, that my younger daughter sleeps in the dining room. Yes, we have a table and chairs at one 'end' and a crib and bureau at the other 'end.' Alas, this is no good. One daughter gets her own, admittedly small but beautifully decorated, bedroom, while the other sleeps where we eat.

Friends say turn the dining room into a room for both girls, but then there is literally no place for a table and chairs. And, yes, at 37, I think I am old enough to want - no, deserve! - a table and chairs to eat at. So what if right now I have to shoo everyone out so little C get her zzz's.

OK - so where does that leave us? Not having the $1.5 million or so it would take to buy a bigger apartment, we must leave. No! No! Not the suburbs and the car thing! Not my kids having awful accents and being afraid of the city - fleeing the homeless, afraid of people whose skin is a different color, no longer able to remember which subways are local and which are express.

So that brings me to our latest idea... Could we really move to Brooklyn? I can hear my mother shrieking now! It is the only solution offered so far that does not make me well up at the thought of thinking of it. My kids would still be New Yorkers - still take the train, still take for granted being able to take part in everything New York offers - the Nutcracker at the Met, the Guggenheim, the Museum of Natural History, events in Central Park. Could this work? Appointments are scheduled for Friday and Saturday. I don't know if I should keep my fingers crossed - or get out a new box of tissues.

You're not a Woman, You're a Mom

2005-04-28T11:12:00.000-07:00

From Cheryl Shops:

For the trendy mom: The bohemian look is in for spring, and as much as your mom might want to rock it, the tiered peasant skirts and crocheted tops will make her look like she's trying too hard. So give her this turquoise necklace, currently on sale, for a funky but age-appropriate look.

Well. Hmmm. I wish I had read this before I bought a black tiered peasant skirt, and not ten minutes after.

Green Pillow

2005-04-28T07:02:00.000-07:00

Here is a direct quote from an email from friend A sent me about her Harvard Law School-educated husband. This kept me amused for days.

Subject: Why women should rule the world
So I asked my husband, who works across the street from Macy's, to go over and buy a green pillow. I showed him our blue pillow and said get one like this in green. I told him exactly where in the store to go. He called twice before he left and said "what color pillow was I supposed to get?" and each time I said green. When I came home, he said "I got your pillow- you wanted tan, right?" He agreed to go back again. Today, during the first call to ask what color pillow I wanted, I suggested he
might want to write down the word "green." Or take his phone with him to the store. Both ideas were firmly rejected. Perhaps I can call the store and ask them not to sell any tan pillows to any men this afternoon

And, really, this followup email had me roflol-ing:

After the second trip to Macy's, S back empty-handed because he didn't think there were any green pillows left. I go to check it out the next day, where I discover that there is indeed only one color pillow left, but it is green.

Retarded Groundskeeper, Luigi

2005-04-28T06:44:00.000-07:00

This phrase above is actually a quote from an article about Victoria Gotti. I am fairly certain that those words have never before been uttered together, in order, at any time throughout the histroy of the English language. Or, for that matter, throughout the history of all spoken language. Here is a link to the article with this delightful phrase. FYI, for years I have been mildly obsessed, if that is possible, with Ms. Gotti. Not enough, of course, to read her work. Just enough to marvel at her appearance, her existence in general.

The article with the marvelous Luigi quote is written by Jeannette Walls, about whom I knew nothing about until several weeks ago. Then I read her book The Glass Castle about how she was raised by theses incredibly odd, unconventional parents. Might I mention, harddrinking and dirt poor? She went on to move to NYC, attend Barnard College and have a fabulous career. At the same time, her mother is squatting in a tenement and eating out of Dumpsters. (Why is Dumpster always capitalized? Is it a brand name? And what if a brand name starts with a lower case letter - how would you denote that?)

Toe Thong!

2005-04-22T20:22:00.000-07:00

That is a real thing. I bought open toed pumps but did not want that amphibious web-toed effect, so I discovered.... pantyhose with the "toe thong." Let me quote you from the Ones Hanes Place website:
"You want the flawless leg look you get with Hanes Hosiery. Yet you'd also like to wear today's open-toe shoes with confidence. The answer? Beyond Bare Toeless Hanes pantyhose--complete with toe thongs for bare-toe glamour. "

OK , while I cannot get over the creation of the toe thong itself - let alone the name "toe thong," I must say I am near equally as impressed with their use of the word "glamour." Suddenly a site that sells low-end hosiery at a discount is adopting the British spelling. Woo-hoo.

Needless to say, I now own two pair of toe-thong stockings (some pricier brand). It is the perfect way to ensure that it is cold and rainy tomorrow.

Happy Birthday to Me, Happy Birthday to Me

2005-04-21T10:41:00.000-07:00

A lousy, lousy working birthday but I am most excited about the person who was kind enough to let me know that Judith Warner started a group on Yahoo! Thanks, anonymous Chris!

The day has sucked, sucked, sucked. Unless you like frantically compiling data, yelling at your children, and a really, really crummy salad filled with olives. Luckily, I will complete the birthday celebration by cleaning my kitchen for the Holiday of Matzos, and of course, screaming some more at my children.

Not the Remotest Idea

2005-04-14T10:13:00.000-07:00

Tell me again why we can’t beep our TV remotes the way we beep our cordless phones? I mean, wouldn’t this make the world a kinder, happier place? If I can’t have the beepable remote, can I at least train a domestic pet to find it for me? Or would I have to dip said remote in some tasty bacon flavoring to make that work?

In Awe of the Judith

2005-04-14T10:12:00.000-07:00

Last night Cindy and I went to see our idol, Judith Warner, author of what I call my bible, Perfect Madness; Motherhood in the Age of Anxiety. Let me tell you (please let me) that she did not disappoint. She was incredible – so well-spoken and poised and articulate and passionate. What she has to say, both in person and in the book, just resonates so thoroughly. I was disappointed to see the meager (I thought) turnout for someone I hope is the catalyst to a motherhood movement – or better yet, a ‘family’ movement, to co-op a Republican term. The women in attendance were clearly galvanized.

After the talk, Cindy and I got to chat with Judith Warner’s mother, who was a very intelligent and substantial woman, and obviously very proud of her daughter. We also spoke briefly with our idol herself. She told us she saw Cindy and me talking to each other in the audience and thought we didn’t like her – that that’s how insecure she is! Well, if that didn’t make us love her more, what could? Cindy kept saying all the way home, “can’t she be our friend? Let’s find her email address and maker her our friend.” And how would I love that? She is just amazing.

Cindy and I were so looking forward to this, and with Lisa Belkin as the moderator, it was icing on the cake. Unfortunately, she was utterly disappointing. If that is the word you use when you learn you cannot stand a person that until then you admired, respected, wanted to be – if you can want to be someone just because you read their weekly column. (I guess you can, since I want to be David Pogue as well.) Anyway, her big piece, “The Opt-Out Revolution”, I passed around and talked about for months. I realized with Judith Warner’s book that “Opt-Out” did not go far enough, talking about ‘choices’ but not questioning why we have such limited and abysmal choices. Still, I was excited to see her. But she seemed defensive of her piece and basically interested in hearing herself talk – when we all came to hear Judith Warner. Also, I must say, I could not stand her appearance, which I can only describe and a contemporary Betty Crocker.

Say NO to the Frump

2005-04-07T08:04:00.000-07:00

I must learn to just say no. Since I have had the girls, I no longer buy the nice things I used to for myself. And I seem to have lost the entire ability to accessorize. Now I buy cheap, basic shirts and wear them with likeminded pants. Whoo-hoo! So exciting! Would a scarf kill me (I suppose if tied too tightly)?? Could I learn to layer? Is that too much to ask? How about an item of clothing that is interesting? Maybe not just a plain cotton crew-necked sweater.

When did this happen? I think I said when. I guess that is a rhetorical question, expressing my horror and resentment. (And really, am I anything if not resentful?)

As part of this banning of the frumpery, I did contact the Manolo, looking for zexy shoes to be worn pushing the stroller down the mean city streets. My quest for said shoes was inspired by a picture of Kate Hudson wearing he baby while wearing 3 inch mules. She's a mom - but she looks hot (wait, was Paris successful in trademarking that?). Disappointingly, the Manolo he recommended the shoes of Mephisto. Finding expensive, sensible shoes is not a challenge for me. His suggestions only made me feel more marginilized. Alas, it brings me back to Judith Warner, as everything these days does.

Law & Order

2005-04-05T11:51:00.000-07:00

Love it or hate it? Like many ugly styles (hair, clothes, accents), it is hard to know whether or not you love or hate "Law & Order." Finally, after years of hating it, I have given in. And just in time, since now I can get my fix approximately 516 times a day - counting all its variations ("L&O Vanilla," "L&O SUV," "L&O I'm Smarter Than You Are," "L&O Chicks") and channels.

But, as for ugly fashions, I do hate the shrug.

Moving and Poignant Commerical

2005-03-31T07:24:00.000-08:00

"Last year I almost lost my..." what might follow? Child to cancer? Dog to a drunk driver? No... "Last year I almost lost my lawn to crabgrass." Am I the only one offended by this commercial?

Now here is where I get worried about myself. Am I really hoping to hear a commercial that would be so heavyhandedly 'moving'? Far from it! But do I really want to believe that there are people in this world for whom a lawn that is not uniformally, artificially bright green is a calamity? That is all the more distressing. Maybe a moving ad about how there are people in the world suffering a pain that cannot be imagined by those of us who live in apartment buildings and don't give a .

Testing the Waters

2005-03-31T06:52:00.000-08:00

I believe my hatred of that expression gets to the heart of this blog. I think that pretty much says it all. Sigh.