Archive for January, 2008

we all landed on free parking

January 25, 2008

Oh boy! The whole country is abuzz with deep pockets now that the government is in works to give us reparitions for the suffering our people have endured these past eight years with W.

What? Why does everyone look at me when I say that? Reparitions isn’t a bad word, just a loaded one. I thought it was hilarious- at 3 am this morning when I couldn’t sleep. If I was a good girl, I’d get up and do some housework when I’m up at night, but it is way too cold and I’m way too lazy so I just lie in bed and come up with wit to drop the next day.

Personally, I’ll be happy when that check is in my hot little hands. I’m certainly not part of the guild that is out spending it already, putting things on credit and promising that I will pay it off later with my prize. No, no. Not you. It’s that lady in the check out line behind you.

When we win our money, I’m hoping that we can get the yard re-poured (that’s urbanese for “landscaping”) by local contractors who buy their materials off an independent dealer up there on Washington Avenue so I can at least delude myself into thinking that the money is stimulating our local economy.
That way I can pretend that I’m combating the many Americans who will be spending their check at the big box stores, which does no good for any economy, except maybe the estate of Sam Walton, et al. which is why our country is where it is. Which is why we are getting these dollars in the first place. Oh no! Maybe those local contractors can unpaint me from this corner.

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fetish

January 17, 2008

I’m secretly turned on by rich older ladies smoking cigarettes. Not like 40 years-old older, but like geriatric older.

Oh stop puking. I know what turns you on, and it’s far more shocking than grandma taking a drag.

And it’s not like I want to touch them. I just like to think about what their life was like a half a lifetime ago. I like to think that they were glamorous and popular and liberated and went to all the best parties in Rittenhouse and had a hair appointment every Thursday afternoon and held it in place with AquaNet and Pucci or Hermes scarves. I like to think about the jewelry and the stockings and pointy bras hanging over claw-footed tubs at night. Red lipstick, record players, elbow-length gloves, martinis, party dresses, and embossed calling cards.

I try to imagine how they felt when a girl like that wed, whether it turned out to be how she imagined. If she lied about being a virgin if she wasn’t, how it felt to be a new mom, trapped in the house all day with the brat, looking out the window at the younger, thinner, prettier girls who were still free to go as they pleased. If she resented going to the market and cooking and cleaning all day and if she missed the person who is trapped behind the public presentation of wife and mother. I wondered if she was secretly and guiltily happy when the children were finally grown, and what she did to re-enter herself into what was left of society. If she took speedy pills to help cope with life and get everything done like so many people did back in the days before Prozac and Xanax. If she snuck booze during the day and spit in the casserole when it came out of the oven out of spite. If she broke down and cried in frustration when the last kid was finally out the door in the morning, knowing that there was no one around to hear. Not that anyone would listen anyway.

I like to think that every time that woman inhales, she can close her eyes and remember how it felt to be young and sexy and happy before life happened to her.

And then she coughs up blood and yellow stuff and something strangely solid and her bifocals fall to the sidewalk and she slips and breaks a hip on the way to pick them up and pees herself and farts really loud and I remind myself why I never started smoking and I remember that part in Mommy Dearest where Greg Savitt says to Joan something about how when she was younger drinking made her look sexy but now it just makes her look like an old drunk and maybe I should skip happy hour for the next few years and drink a glass or eight of milk so I don’t end up on the sidewalk in fifty years with osteoporosis-induced urine running down my leg.

no, no, no. it’s just ice cream…

January 16, 2008

My BJ’s Wholesale membership expires at the end of the month.

I love love love saying that I enjoy BJ’s so much that it brings me to my knees in admiration and every time I’m done with BJ’s I get such a huge load. I could go on, but I won’t. Seriously, I have a million of them.
No? Okay.

I have a slight mental illness that requires me to have a never ending supply of paper towels, toilet paper, toothpaste, canned goods, femme products, diapers, wipes, and string cheese. I joined BJ’s for the low, low prices on infant formula and household foodery needs. Farce. You just feel like it’s cheaper because you are getting more and you don’t have to buy as often. Plus, it seems to me that there is nothing truly healthy for sale there. If we were the type of family that lives off pudding packs, juice boxes, canned soda, lunch meat, frito-lay, ice cream novelties, and hard candy we’d be set. Unfortunately for the boys, I don’t allow it.

If you bring a calculator to the store, you’ll find that you are generally only saving pennies on the grocery items. You’ll do better shopping at the supermarket when they put a good flier out. Or Walmart, if you don’t mind an eternal damnation because you are indirectly slaughtering the babies of young unwed mothers, the borderline retarded, and unpensioned elderly. Whatever you’re into. It’s your choice.

BJ’s is good for big ticket items like ventless fireplaces and televisions, but how many of those do you really need? You’re better off finding a friend with a membership and buying them lunch if they let you in on their card.

I’m slowly but surely dealing with my compulsion to turn my cabinets and closets into dry goods storage centers. If I can’t buy bulk, I probably won’t. It’s that simple. Saves me hundreds in therapy co-pays. Plus, I always buy stuff that I don’t really need because its BIG! and CHEAP! and that clashes with my other compulsion to downsize everything and only keep what is absolutely vital. Yes, 15 cans of black beans is vital. As is a year’s supply of sippy cup valves.

I want Jake out of diapers sometime in oh-ate, so the more I have to buy them the more I will be annoyed at buying them.
Target carries those giant packs of Brawny paper towels for about a dollar more than BJ’s offers them.
There’s always the Can-Can Sale at ShopRite.
And it’s been eight years since I’ve been in a town that doesn’t have any toilet paper for sale anywhere until “la settimana forseProssima” (next week… maybe).
Toothpaste is overrated if you keep a stash of Orbit in your bag.
Tampons are hardly a necessity when you have a dozen rolls of paper towels and Scotch tape that will make do until you get to the corner store.
Wipes are nice, but you can always stick the kid’s butt under the tub spigot in a pinch if things get messy, and I live in the cheese capital of the Eastern Seaboard.

I do think I’ll graciously decline membership at the club this year, dahling.

turn it up

January 15, 2008

I lifted this meme from here.

Tuesday Tunes is back for the new year. You know the drill. I’ll post 10 words and you tell me the first song/album/band etc that comes to mind.

Cruel: Bananarama Between the girls from this band, Joan Jett, and the girls from The Go-Go’s, I don’t know how I ever turned out to like boys. I had me some serious girl crushes as a child.
Drunk: Neil Diamond. Two A.M. A bar full of douchebags with their hands in the air. “So (not) good. So (not) good. So (not) good.” Neil Diamond on his own is awesome. Frat boys singing Neil Diamond, not awesome.
Scared: Marilyn Manson. Remember when he was scary? Now he is practically licensed by Disney. Not really. But that stuff is totally vanilla now. The kids at the church around the corner from me opted to do an interpretive rendition of Portrait of an American Family rather than the usual production of the regular old Christmas Pageant last month. It was cute.
Cover: It’s a tie between Tijuana Brass and the Stones. I would pull these albums out of my parent’s collection and stare at the pretty ladies all day long, promising that when I grew up I’d be sure to get a picture of me dressed in whipped cream and own a hat like that.
Color: Me Badd. Ohgod. I’m so embarrassed. Don’t ever tell anyone I know who that is.
One: U2. Most overrated band in the history of the world. I respect the band, I like some of their old stuff, and I like that Bono is out to save the world, but I don’t get it.
Young: David Bowie, for Young American, the best song ever about teenagers who don’t use birth control but do use drugs. At least that’s what I get from it. I love David Bowie. If you do too, you’ll know that a lot of my blog post titles are DB lyrics.
Punk: The Who and The Kinks are the end-all/be-all of true innovative punk rock invention.
Age:, New. Tesh, John. puke, I’ll
Believe: Kenny Rogers. But I always think of cat food since he sold that song for the jingle back in the eighties. “Cause she believes in me…. Purina Cat Chow”.

your turn