Thursday, January 27, 2011

so... unexpected side effect of losing my dad?

Losing my kitchen mojo (which I totally got from him).

I used to be able to whip up a delicious meal out of nowhere, regardless of what was in the refrigerator.

Now, I've got a refrigerator full of food, the usual stuff I always get, and I couldn't put together an edible meal to save my life. Tonight? I made baked spaghetti and, for some reason, I thought it would be a good idea to mix store-bought sauce with cream of chicken soup and toss in some chopped green peppers and carrots. It was terrible, like something out of a school cafeteria.



Since my dad died, I've only cooked one thing that wasn't totally gross, and that was the croissants I made IN MY DAD'S KITCHEN.

I'm either going to need to move in with my stepmom and do all my cooking there, or get the family used to microwaved stuff. And, perhaps, consider investing in a fire extinguisher, just in case.

Labels: suzy fucking homemaker

Tuesday, January 25, 2011

okay, fine, I give up, I'm never going to look cute in prescription glasses.

I've needed glasses since about third grade. Without some sort of corrective lenses, I can't see more than about 6 inches in front of my face.

To give you an idea of how blind I am -

what looks like this to most people*:



looks like this to me with no correction:


(if you know anything about eye prescriptions, my eyes are -9.5)

I've worn contacts since I was about 15 because I've never been able to find glasses that were even remotely cute. I've always had the backup pair of glasses but I refuse to wear them in public because they make me look like a bug.

The last time I got new glasses was probably more than ten years ago, and since then, I've seen way more cute frames and I figured that medical science had maybe come up with some way to make glasses that could make me look cute and smart. I don't have any aversion to contacts, I actually find them comfortable, I just wanted to have the option.

So at my yearly exam, I found some cute frames and upgraded to the thinner lenses in hopes of being able to rock the glasses in a Lisa Loeb-esque way on a semi-regular basis. And the people at the eye doctor assured me that I wouldn't look bug-esque in these glasses.

After waiting two weeks for the lenses to be specially ordered from the NASA, I finally got to go pick up my new glasses today.

And while these are about half as thick as my last ones... guess who still looks like a bug (spoiler alert: it's me)

 




*yes, I'm watching Judge Judy, don't judge me

Labels: pointless whining

Monday, January 24, 2011

When I find myself excited about a jury summons in the mailbox, it becomes painfully obvious that I need to get out of the house more. Especially since the summons wasn't even for me.

Thursday, January 20, 2011

In which I freak the fuck out about the possibility of an Ambien shopping spree

I get home from running some errands and find a brown paper wrapped box on the front porch. It's about the size of a shoe box and I'd recently ordered some cute canvas Mary Janes because I was looking for a middle ground between flip flops and Converse All Stars, so I assumed it was those shoes.

I pick it up and check the label, it says "Pleaser.com" with some return address in Southern California.

Pleaser.com?

I'd ordered the shoes off of eBay and had not ever, to my knowledge, visited this site.

But then I had a sinking feeling. I've been having major problems getting to sleep lately, so I've been dipping in to my rapidly diminishing supply of Ambien. Normally, my awake Ambien time is spent sending ill-advised emails and making ill-advised blog posts and having ill-advised IM conversations, but who's to say that I hadn't clicked on some ill-advised link and ended up at Pleaser.com?

I quickly ripped off the brown paper wrapper and was faced with this box:


Shit. Tell me that doesn't scream LUCITE HEELS or EDIBLE THONGS or SOLAR-POWERED ENVIRONMENTALLY-FRIENDLY YODA-SHAPED VIBRATOR!

Slowly I cracked open the box, half-excited and half-crapping-my-pants only to find... the cute and sensible Mary Janes I'd ordered.

And... exhale.

Of course, the masochist in me can't help but wonder what I would buy if I did try Ambien shopping...

Labels: and I'm not even on Ambien

Monday, January 17, 2011

The worst part about flying in to LAX is not the canned air, itty bitty seats, surly waitresses flight attendants or not being able to find a comfortable position in which to sleep - it's that at least fifty percent of the people on the plane are either in the entertainment business or attempting to get into the entertainment business. And they can't WAIT to tell you about it.

The people who are in the business are dying to talk about it, but want to make you drag it out of them because it makes them feel so important.

The people who aren't in the industry will tell you every detail of every project they have ever worked on, regardless of the social cues you are giving them, on the off chance that you might be or know someone who will be able to help them get into the business.

Last night, walking down the ramp in Dallas towards the plane, I wonder who I'm going to be stuck next to for three hours - will it be the Australian girl carrying a guitar? Or the elfin girl carrying two yoga mats? Or the creepy musician guy with a fedora and facial piercings? The suspense is killing me*.

I check my boarding pass and the numbers on the aisles. 10B. A middle seat. Great. The only thing worse than sitting next to one person is being sandwiched between two and having to battle for at least one arm rest.

I arrive at my row and see that the window seat person is already in place. And he's approximately the size of a loveseat, taking up at least half of my seat. Oh, and did I mention that dude's wearing sunglasses (at 9:45 at night), a big diamond earring, brand new Nikes and a spendy watch? Because, yeah, he is, so it's obvious that he's one of those "industry" guys. Great. Not like I've had an emotional exhausting week and am really not in the mood to play sycophant to some California-sized ego.

The cabin doors aren't even closed when he asks if I'm going to LA to seek "fame and fortune"... because, apparently, with no makeup and scroungy clothes, I look like a 19-year-old model/actress? Not that he cares, he's just looking for some way to bring up whatever he wants to bring up.

I tell him I'm not on a fame-quest, just live North of Santa Barbara. I ask if he's seeking his "fame and fortune" and he proudly brags that he's already found it and pauses so I can ask what he does.

He tells me he does "a little of everything" and is currently working for Mtv.

Were this 1987, that would be super duper impressive. Since this is a channel that has eschewed music videos in favor of paying hundreds of thousand dollars to booze-soaked tanorexic gnomes and teenagers who can't grasp the concept of birth control, I don't know that working for Mtv is all that cool anymore.

Since I haven't watched Mtv in approximately a billion years, I start guessing "reality" shows that he could be on. Finally, frustrated with my lack of hipness, he breaks down and tells me he's on "Rob & Big". I recall seeing the title of it in the channel guide, but other than that, I was clueless. I try to feign interest, but it's half-hearted at best.

Anyone who knows me knows that I'm a prolific question-asker, always looking for the interesting details or redeeming qualities of someone's life and... there just wasn't anything there. He was a pleasant enough guy, but wasn't any more charming or interesting or funny than anyone else. I don't mean that in a "why is he famous and not me" kind of way, I mean that in a "why aren't people required to be... something to be famous"? Although, if I didn't have a D-list celebrity anecdote to blog about, I would have had to write about all the fart jokes from this weekend, how my sister does an adorable impression of my dad, how cute my stepmom is when she gets drunk or how I totally remembered that mosaic tile wall at LAX from one time when we dropped off my dad at the airport when I was 5 or 6.



*by "suspense is killing me" I mean that I'm feeling a level of dread normally associated with dental appointments.

Saturday, January 15, 2011

Friday, January 14, 2011

tiny little update from Florida

so we're doing the family thing and it's been good, just talking about my dad and doing our best impressions of him - it's been a pleasant time.

I've also been shocked and amazed by the kindness people have been showing my stepmom - in addition to flowers and cards and calls, people from her work have dropped up a metric pantload of food - lunchmeats, cheese, mayo, mustard, desserts, sodas, and bread - oh so much bread - I've never seen so much food and I've never seen such an amazing outpouring of care from a group of people, her boss has stopped by the past 3 days to bring food and stuff, it's unbelievable. I didn't think people were actually like this.

~~~~~~~~

Also, my travel anecdote - I haaaaaaate traveling - hate it - I hate the crowds, I hate the smell of airplanes, I hate the stupid cramped seats, I hate taking off my shoes for the scanner thing, and I really really hate how 98% of the people in the airport act like they've never flown before. HATE IT. DREAD IT.

The only thing I hate more than flying would be having to drive a huge long distance to get to an airport - so Tuesday morning, I woke up at 2AM to leave by 3 to get to LAX by 6 - and I grumped my way through the TSA thing and slumped over to the gate and dramatically threw down my laptop bag and backpack and pull out my iPod - as I'm untangling the ear pieces, I look over and see a dwarf waiting to get on my flight - not just a short guy, a legitimate dwarf. I was so excited, I LOVE dwarves, they make me happy, and as wrong as it is, I wish I had a dwarf sidekick.

I waited until boarding time and was hoping against hope that I would get to sit next to him (or have him ride on my lap) because that would have made me not hate flying - but instead, I got stuck next to some couple from New York who were going to Europe for a couple of months and spent half the time before takeoff calling their doorman to find out if Bloomingdales had delivered their new linens because they wanted to have their maid come and put them on the beds. I would have tripped them when we were on our way off the plane had they not elbowed me out of the way to get out before me. Way to be assholes, guys!

Labels: pointless whining

Tuesday, January 11, 2011

so I really appreciate all the sympathy and support (and an offer of a trip to the airport, hello, if that isn't friendship, I don't know what is) I've gotten in the past couple days - it really means a lot.

Thanks to the Effexor, I've been able to function and I'm handling the situation as I handle every situation, with a mixture of quiet introspection and defensive sarcasm - for me, grief is like shopping for a bathing suit - it's necessary, but somewhere between devastating and horrendous and absolutely something for which I don't want an audience.

I'm going to Florida tomorrow to help my stepmom out with... whatever people do in this kind of situation.

Of course, in typical middle child fashion, I'm trying to take care of everyone in the situation - I've stocked the house up in toilet paper, paper towels and food, as though the husband and child would be unable to find a grocery store and offered to write out all the pet care stuff, as though they don't live with the animals every day - making sure even the littlest details are taken care of, makes me feel like I'm being useful.

Sunday, January 09, 2011

I can hear the words and I can say the words and I can understand the words, but I still feel like I can't quite grasp the concept of my dad being gone.

Gone, like he's just out seeing a movie or something.

Especially when, on Friday morning, his doctor was talking about getting him discharged. Then on Friday night, he started feeling like he was getting sick. By the time he was taken into the hospital, they were calling it pneumonia. By last night, his already weakened heart wasn't able to handle it and we lost him.

Lost him, like we took him to the mall and weren't holding his hand and he wandered into the arcade.

He was the smartest person I ever knew, I always said I'd use him as my lifeline if I ever found myself on one of those knowledge-based game shows. He inspired my writing and my photography and my cooking and my love of reading and my endless curiosity. He was responsible for my height and my dry sense of humor. He was an excellent sane to my mom's crazy. And while I didn't see him often, I'm going to miss him every day for the rest of my life.

Friday, January 07, 2011

Letters

Dear Mom of Some Kid on The Kid's Basketball Team,

I don't understand how you had time to pick out earrings for your outfit for the game, but didn't have time to CHANGE OUT OF YOUR PAJAMA BOTTOMS. I'm judging you for that.

~~~~~~~

Dear American Movie-Going Public,

I'm totally judging you for making that effing Fockers movie number one at the box office. I mean, really, how starved for entertainment are you?


~~~~~~~~

Dear "Celebrity"/"Star"-type Reality Show Producers,

Would it be possible to raise the bar on who we're considering "stars" or "celebrities" now? Like, if someone is only known for being on another reality show, can we not consider them famous until they've contributed at least the tiniest bit towards society?

~~~~~~~~~

Dear Whomever Decided To Publish A Book By Snooki,

Really? I mean REALLY?

First of all - is the publishing world this desperate for material? How would you not resort to going door to door looking for writers?

Second, and, I feel, most important - are fans of Snooki's the type of people you'd expect to find in book stores?

xxoo,

the bitter, unpublished writer

Labels: letter to

Tuesday, January 04, 2011

There needs to be a magnetic bumper ribbon for this

Why can't toothpaste manufacturers get together and have some kind of standardization when it comes to naming flavors?

Why am I always standing in the toothpaste aisle staring at packages of Sparkling Mint, Magical Mint, Mystical Mint and Refreshing Mint and trying to figure out which one will taste like toothpaste and which one will taste like Pepto Bismol and which one will taste like minty cough drops?

I just want to brush my teeth with something that doesn't make me want to vomit. Is that too much to ask?

And don't even get me started on toothbrushes...

Labels: pointless whining

Sunday, January 02, 2011

what do you mean my kid watches too much Food Network?

me: need anything from the grocery store?

husband: if you could get some ground beef, I'll make burgers tonight. Please get some that doesn't have too much fat in it.

The Kid (without even looking up from Facebook): 85/15 is best for burgers because it has enough fat to add flavor.

Labels: adventures in shitty parenting, suzy fucking homemaker