Interlude

A handful of things I've pondered recently:


1. Satin, floral-print genie pants are not - I repeat, are not - current pool deck fashion. That's not to say I didn't see someone wearing satin, floral-print genie pants on the pool deck. Because I most certainly did. I mean, my eyes were bleeding, but I'm pretty sure.


2. If you ignore the clumps of dog hair that are stuck to your comforter/couch/clothes/walls/rugs long enough, your husband will finally (sweet baby Jesus, FINALLY) say it's time to get someone to help clean the house twice a month. He may preface it with "If you can't handle your two jobs and your two kids AND keep the house clean, you need to find some help.", but that's okay because all I heard was "Spend money!" and "Stop cleaning!".


3. When you buy your kids new swim goggles, the surf/ski kid behind the counter who takes your money is giddy. You know why? Because he knows that you will be back at that swim shop every two weeks, all summer long, because your kids will lose those goggles and every other pair you buy for them until school starts again. And that surf/ski kid who works at the shop will sit there smiling, drinking the Jamba Juice you want, but can no longer afford, because now you're paying his salary. Go team! 


4. It's really hard to get mad at your daughter for being sarcastic and sassy when you're pretty sure she learned it from you.


5. A Venti iced green tea isn't a luxury, it's a necessity. Call me an asshole if you must, but if you aren't handing me a tea as you're saying it, well then, who's the asshole now?


6. When you're reading a magazine about lifestyle and fashion and you answer "yes" to four out of the five Do You Make These Fashion Mistakes? questions, it's time to rethink what you're putting on your body in public, even if your body does currently look like raw pizza dough.


7. I know the Paleo way of eating is supposed to be great for you, but there has to be a reason we've evolved from caveman status. I don't want to have that must-hunt-and-kill-and-gather mentality all day. I also don't want to eat meat for breakfast/lunch/dinner/snacks. Allegedly, that kind of frantic, protein-filled day ends with one quesadilla and two glasses of Chardonnay.


8. On that note, hypothetically speaking, when you get to be a certain age, you can't drink wine and eat quesadillas for dinner and not gain weight from it. And one day, you're going to look up and think holy crap who's body is this??


9. When your eczema ear turns into a full-blown earache, one so painful that you can't sleep on that side of your head (or open your jaw all the way, or touch your neck), it's probably a good idea to go to the doctor. But when you don't have the time or energy to find the doctor you need, make an appointment, or go see him, ear drops from Whole Foods and a few Excedrin are good in a pinch. Stay tuned. Hopefully I won't have to start blogging in sign language anytime soon.


10. No matter how much beer bloat you subjected yourself to in college, you were smaller back then than you are now. Nothing makes that point more crystal clear than looking at your dance team uniform from college and realizing it looks like it might fit an American Girl doll. But just in case you need further proof, trying the uniform on helps. And by "trying the uniform on" I mean yanking it up to about mid-thigh, and giving up before suffering further humiliation (or a torn bicep from all the pulling it took to get it that far).


Happy Friday-lite, everyone. May your weekend be humiliation-free and chock full of Chardonnay.

Interlude

1. I don't understand the reaction to Paula Deen's announcement that she has diabetes. I think someone going through something like that in private, let alone with a billion people watching, deserves compassion. Yes, she fries food and she cooks with fat and salt. But I've never heard her say "You should eat food like this three times a day, seven days a week.". Not even one time. She herself said she only tapes 30 days a year, and I've only seen her take a couple bites of each dish on camera. So that probably means she's not cooking and eating like this every day either. The woman pulled herself up by her boot straps, doing the only thing she knew how to do in order to provide for her kids at that time. Nobody is forcing people to cook and eat her recipes, just like nobody is forcing people to eat at McDonald's or smoke cigarettes. So Paula Deen building a life off of biscuits and gravy and then getting judged harshly when she gets diabetes feels a lot like a woman dressing provocatively occasionally and getting blamed for being sexually assaulted. Also people, mind your own beeswax. Sheesh.

2. Rush Limbaugh probably gets paid per click or each time his name is mentioned. As nauseating as it can be to swallow fury, maybe the best thing to do is to remain totally silent and unresponsive. If the squeaky wheel loses it's audience, eventually it will stop squeaking because nobody is listening anyway. Won't it?

3. Late Oscar note: Angelina - You have a family with one of the sexiest men ever created. You should be languishing in the most cushy comfort zone known to humankind. So what was with the forced Barbie pose in your dress? It just felt weird, even if your measurements do match Barbie's exactly. If the dress only works with the stick figure leg poking unnaturally out of the slit, then the dress isn't working. You know that. Suggestion: Start planning your next gown now, and each day, as you review the sketches, EAT A MAYONNAISE SANDWICH AND SOME PIE.

4. General awards show note: Why do stars act surprised when their name is called as the winner of the award? There is generally a 1-in-5 chance it's going to happen, and no matter how many times they skipped math class when they were in school, I'm pretty sure they understand those odds. So stars, if your name is called, stop looking like Taylor Swift does after every performance when people clap for her (I love you Taylor, but girl, all your teenage gawk and awe is gone now...move on from looking surprised when people do what comes naturally as a singer finishes a song.). Also, stars, if you are going to cry, please make sure you actually cry. I don't want a shaky voice, and an angst-filled facial expression, and no actual tears. You aren't going to get another award for this performance, no matter how good it is. And if you can't fake a few tears, it ain't that good. So if you feel overwhelmed, let the mascara run. And if you don't feel overwhelmed, for the love of Christ, compose yourself, graciously accept, thank Jesus and everyone else, and go make your next million. Don't feel bad, I'd be slap happy too.

5. Who, exactly, do I think is going to come up behind me and pick up the dog hair/shoe/corner of a granola bar wrapper/backpack/ blueberry/tissue/dried mac and cheese noodle/pencil that I just walked by? Every time, I look at it on the floor, roll my eyes, and mentally summon the energy to bend over (for the 100th time that day) to pick it up. I'm actually trying to mentally summon the Magic Clean-Up Fairy, but it turns out that if it's on the floor, it's going to be me at some point picking it up. Because unfortunately for me, I am the Magic Clean-Up Fairy. Granted, when the traveling husband isn't traveling, he picks up a lot of dog hair. Also, the puppy enjoys eating socks and underwear, so if I could get past the whole next-time-that-dumb-pup-eats-clothes-he's-going-from-dumb-to-dead thing, then I would actually appreciate the help. But for now, I need to find a way to fix my broken bender overer, because that thing is tired.

Now you can imagine what my house looks like tonight. May you bask in the glory that is your tidy home, and may you have some pie, too. I hear Paula Deen makes a chocolate one that's so sweet, it'll practically give you diabetes on the spot.

What? Too soon?

Interlude: Grammy edition

Dear Adele,


I know you don't know me (yet?) and I may (or may not) be old enough to be your Mother, and after reading this (who am I kidding, She's not reading this {and YES, She deserves a capital "S"}) you may be tempted to Google "restraining order", but rest assured, I'm not crazy, I'm just hopelessly devoted to you, gorgeous you. And your eyelashes, your brash humor, and the way you say "Fank you" wif such charm and Brit cockney lilt.


Let's just get something straight from the start. You may not have my same dance background, but I think you'll concur. Chris Brown is the male Britney Spears. If he wants to be a dancer, he should dance. Dance his ever-loving ass off. I will sit back and enjoy. If he wants to be a singer, well then, by God, at some point he will have to actually sing. Live. Like in front of people. With his voice. And a microphone. One that turns on. Speaking of which, if he isn't going to sing, he shouldn't wear a mic. He shouldn't even pretend. It's not an accessory, it's actually used to amplify one's voice. Which he isn't currently using. So he shouldn't bother.


(Not to mention, Chris Brown, to use one of your homeland terms, is a wanker. You must think we're crazy in La-la land. And we might be. Because apparently you can sock your girlfriend, and then continue to enjoy success and glory because of a talent that you don't even have to actually employ in public. Amazing. And by "amazing", I mean debatable. At best.)


Next. Sir Paul McCartney is from your dojo. I get it. However. The very old and many times married man skipping around the stage wearing suspenders does not a finale make.


Miscellaneously (if it's not a word, it should be), why do the Foo Fighters get to be on stage (albeit the one outside) THREE times? I love me some Foo, but I would much rather have heard you sing two more times, and I'm not just saying that.


A few more musings:


• Why is Nikki Minaj trying to reenact Madonna's 'Like A Prayer' but with some sort of nouveau twist, inviting the Pope as her date? I didn't understand that one at all. If you spoke to her backstage and can break it down, write me back. 
• Why did Katy Perry come to the Grammys as Smurfette? Aren't we finished there?
• And WTF is Dead Mau5? Is that cool, or is it a digitized Jack in the Box head with ears?


HELP ME.


Last, I'm a fan of Lady Gaga. I am. I think she sings the shit out of her acapella version of "Born This Way", and I'm not even going to front, I love "You and I". That said, what is the meaning of that face screen? Normally she looks like what would happen if Barbara Streisand and Amy Winehouse (R.I.P.) had a baby, but two nights ago, she looked like a dolphin who swam full speed into a glittery net. Sort of surprised and pulled back. Did she indulge in too much pre-party and end up trying to put her tights on face first? I felt uncomfortable with that decision, and I'm not even going into the scepter she was holding. She makes me nervous a little bit. Which is probably her goal. So in that case, well done YOU, Lady Gaga. At least when you open your mouth you actually sing.


That's my recap. Granted, I saw it from my couch, in America. I'd love your perspective, Adele. We should probably circle the wagons for a glass of red (or six) and really talk. We don't even have to talk, come to think of it. I'd settle for some time in your presence. It was supposed to happen at your Bay area concert, but then those dastardly polyps ruined everything, so...


Until we meet again. And by "meet", I mean, until another fabulous friend offers to buy me tickets to your next concert and takes me to watch you sing. For real. With your voice. Your fabulous, wonderful, amazing, God-given, angelfaced voice.


Love,


Crazy Amy