Direct Quote

Husband after winning play of the World Series: Our child will be born into a better world where Philadelphia is the World Series Champ.

I married a crazy man....

My Sloppy American Husband, My Crazy Father and My Grandmother, the Dirty Old Lady

I used to say that I had a sexy European boyfriend and now I have a sloppy American husband.  This was primarily because he discovered he really likes to wear his shirts untucked and is unnaturally attached to his GAP hoodie.  This year the American husband has taken on a whole new hobby.  He decided he likes baseball.  So I am currently sitting on the couch held captive in our 1100 square feet by the World Series.  I'm holding out hope that the fascination has more to do with the Phillies than baseball.  

On a random side note, I would like to also complain about people without manners.  Today I was standing with 3 coworkers around 5PM. There was a woman there ahead of us who had hit the down button.  In our building the elevators don't stay open very long and if you happen to be standing on the wrong side of the elevator bank then you really have to hustle to get to the elevator before the doors shut.  So the elevator comes, the lady jumps in and as we're walking toward her the doors start to shut.  So I reached out on my way past the call button, hit the down button again to reopen the doors and said, "Oh, for real?".  At which point I walked onto the elevator in my 8 month pregnant glory and shot her a dirty look.  She stared at the buttons (in shame...or at least I like to think she did).

I can look past it when people pretend they don't see you and let the door close within inches of you getting there.  I can even forgive them when they look at the floor as the doors close instead of looking you in the eye.  But, to walk into the elevator that everyone has been waiting for and let it shut on people is a sign that you have been raised by wild animals.  Animals.  And not the cute furry kind that people like. 

This made me think of the time my father went postal on some woman at Costco.  I can only relay the story second hand as I wasn't privileged enough to be present.  He and my mother were in line to return a sweater. In front of them a woman was returning a half used sleeve of disposable plates, some opened plastic flatware, a 5lb tub of potato salad with a few scoops out of it and a carrot cake with 2 slices missing.  Costco apparently doesn't ask questions they just take the return to make everyone happy.  The returned food went directly in the trash.  My father was horrified that this woman was clearly returning the half used leftovers of a party.  So he called her a skank. Out loud. To her face. (I find this mildly amusing since skank is one of my favorite words)  He also announced to the entire customer service line that that woman was the reason why prices were so high everywhere and she should be ashamed of herself.

I only have one question.  Am I going to be that crazy screaming person someday?

I also vividly recall going to a restaurant with him last year in the middle of the winter and after about 35 people had walked in and stood with the door open (freezing everyone in the restaurant) he had endured enough and screamed at them, "What part of Jersey are you from, shut the damn door...".  It was a bit like a blanket of silence descending on the entire restaurant.  My friend from NY thought it was funny. I was mortified. My mother didn't seem phased.  I really couldn't argue, they were a bunch of dumb asses standing there in 10 degree weather with the door open.  But again, the better question is - will I someday be that crazy?

I highlight our dinner table conversation Sunday night as proof that insanity and embarrassment has a long history in my family.

My cousin had come to look at my grandmother's legs.  She has a history of some sort of skin cancer and we asked him to come check out a lump on her leg since he's a dermatologist.  He stayed for dinner.  My grandmother had other plans.  She wanted to sleep.  She only stayed awake because she heard we were going to have dessert.  The only thing she likes more than sleeping is eating cake.

Grandmother (after dessert): I'm going to sleep now

My Father (teasing her because he's like that): He's going to wake you up every 4 hours to check your leg.

Grandmother: What the hell for?

My Father: You heard him, we have to keep an eye on it.

Grandmother: Oh, I thought I was going to get a piece.

Seriously? Does she even know what that means?  She can't remember her own name yet she somehow has the wherewithal to be a dirty old woman.

Maybe I'm the milkman's kid...

Dear Friends,

I write to you on behalf of my poor friend in Virginia with nothing to do. She’s going through a rough patch at work and is bored out of her mind. Typical in our crappy industry, we hit periodic stretches of downtime that make you want to beat your head against the wall. Sure it sounds fun to sit around and do nothing and get paid. In fact it is fun…for about 6 hours.

In that time you’ve responded to all your email, caught up with your long lost friends, ordered every book online you’ve ever wanted, scheduled all those overdue doctor’s appointments and now you’re staring at the news tickers willing something interesting to happen so that you have something to read.

So I beg of you….give her something to read. She actually sent me a harassing email asking me if I was ever going to post again because she needs something to read. So really, you would be doing me a favor as well (since I have nothing to say lately and she seems to be getting desperate). I’ve included below a list of the blogs that I’ve sent her to date and those that I just pulled together. Please – she needs some new material!

Already sent:
www.dooce.com
http://bartlebysunite.tumblr.com

And here are a few more I haven’t sent her yet:
http://www.catherinette.com/
http://www.gawker.com
http://15minutelunch.blogspot.com
http://thelastpsychiatrist.com
http://gofugyourself.celebuzz.com/
http://www.waiterrant.net
http://theassimilatednegro.blogspot.com

So please, leave your favorite blogs and sites in the comments – anything as long as it doesn’t involve shopping online. She will thank you, her husband will thank you.

Happy reading!

Don't Forget Your Spandex...

As usual I've been absent from this blog although this time I have an excuse.  I was in South Beach with two of my girlfriends for a long weekend.  Despite some bad weather that was forecasted we had a really relaxing trip.  

Our itinerary was basically some slight variation of this:

10AM: Drag self out of comfy bed to put on bathing suit

10:30: Reserve chaise lounges by the pool, eat breakfast at poolside restaurant

11AM - 2:30PM: sun, pool, sun, read, pool, sun, nap, nap, nap

2:30: eat lunch at poolside restaurant

3PM-5PM: sun, pool, sun, read, nap, sun

5PM-7PMish: relax, shower, get dressed

7:30: Drinks somewhere

9PM: Dinner somewhere

11PM: Drinks somewhere

12 Midnight: Home to bed

It was several very lazy and relaxing days in the sun.  We also ate pretty well.  Between my friend who did most of the planning and the concierge we had some really good reservations.

The first night we ate at La Marea at The Tides Hotel.  We had a great table out on the terrace where I had an excellent view of the drag queens next door. 

The night after we had a drink in the courtyard of the Setai.  This was hands down the most gorgeous hotel we saw the entire trip, followed by dinner at Blue Door over at the Delano.  Really great dinner with the exception of the torrential downpour next to our table.  The risotto more than made up for it.

The last night we hit up Nobu in the Shore Club.  The food was good but the whole place was a little worn out.  Yes, I ate sushi, don't judge.

A few notes about South Beach.  Really spectacular art deco buildings, really spectacularly skanky women.  The women are in terrific shape with clothing they procured at Sluts R Us.  I felt like I was in a more humid version of Wildwood, NJ.  The men were less than spectacular - I saw more than one guy around the pool with an all weather sweater.  The hair sweater is never a good pool side visual...

Fatty, Fatty 2x4

Yesterday I realized it is becoming difficult to put on socks and today I picked something up off the floor with my toes because it was just easier that way.  God help us all.

Random Crap and How to Damage your Child in Three Easy Steps

Since I am not very entertaining these days, here are a few random thoughts from this increasingly random pregnant woman. (Don't whine, the other alternative is to hear me bitch about baby crap. People, you have no frickin clue how over the top, ugly, expensive and totally unnecessary most of this stuff is...I digress.) Let's move this along.

Stuff to Do or Stuff to Look At:
Here's something for you to do while bored at work (compliments of my friend up north). I scored a miserable 29. Frickin eastern Europeans...

Another gem from her...you have to love a company whose slogan is - "when you care enough to hit send" http://www.someecards.com Since we have all settled in nicely to this lazy world of having our Outlook remind us of people's birthdays and then managing to type less than 300 characters into an ecard, this works out quite well for anyone who is moderately hateful as well as lazy.

And a funny site that is updated infrequently but it's funny as hell: http://bartlebysunite.tumblr.com/

What I've been up to:
Last week I wore a new sweater. By 9AM I looked like I got into a violent fight with a Persian cat. The cat won. By 10 it was in my eyes and floating around my office. I dug out my lint roller (travel size and not terribly effective) and proceeded to roll my belly. I'm quite certain anyone who saw it was probably equal parts curious and horrified.

I had the following conversation with one of my co-workers last week:
Me: Am I a bad mother if I don't have a nursery theme?
Her: You know how I feel about this.
Me: Seriously, the kid can't see more than 4 inches in front of it's face, it's not going to notice the lack of decoration
Silence
Me: Fine
I now own something in green and yellow for the "girl-ish" child.

This past weekend we went shooting. I considered the following logic in advance - when I am underwater and I hear someone it sounds muffled like Charlie Brown's teacher. I figure that's probably the way everything sounds to the kid. So I decided to go shooting. After a crap first round I started to shoot a little better. 2/3rds of the way through the second round I decided to look up pregnancy and shooting on the iPhone. Ah, one of many mistakes - right up there with reading about birth defects. I have now sucked in an undetermined amount of toxic lead and made my child deaf and potentially mentally retarded. I have decided to ignore this for the same reason I ignore those people that tell me if I have an occasional glass of wine that my child will come out with eyes on the side of its head like a carp.

And so we ended the weekend with dinner with the fam. My father decided to make everyone cocktails. His cocktails are usually a double plus by any standard and consist of alcohol and more alcohol. My mother had already had a glass of wine while cooking (a "small" one she says, we don't really believe that) when she decided to also consume a gin martini. Sitting at dinner the conversation went something like this:

Mother (to my husband): Oh! You have such nice hair color.
Husband: Yes, it's for the fall.
Mother (to my brother-in-law): Oh! You have really thick hair. And you have nice color too.
Brief Pause
Mother (to no one in particular): Oh! I think I'm a little drunk.

Then later we lost my grandmother. She disappeared to go to the bathroom and after 15 minutes someone asked if anyone knew where she was.

Mother (yelling to my grandmother): Mom, where are you?
No Answer
Mother: Mom, are you there?
Grandmother: I'm here, I'm wasn't sleeping, I was shitting.
Huh??

Well that clears up everything...

Sometimes the McDonalds Ain't Such a Bad Idea...

I'm traveling with co-workers in Seattle. None of us are from Seattle and so when lunch rolled around we asked the receptionist where we might find some restaurants. She was most unhelpful in terms of recommendations and so we were on our own. To further illustrate how retarded we all are, we were in separate cars since we all had to go different directions after lunch. So our mini convoy headed out, weaving in and out of shopping malls, randomly calling each other on our cell phones.

"What about that?"
"Meh, let's hit the next strip mall."
"I don't care if it's McDonalds, I'm starving."
"Oh for the love of God just park the car."

And so it went on for 4 or 5 strip malls until someone finally parked and we were presented with two options - a sushi place and a Chinese restaurant. They wanted sushi, I am not supposed to eat sushi in my current state (or more specifically I won't eat sushi in a strip mall). So on we went to the Zen Garden.

The entire menu was pictures of Dim Sum and it seemed to favor chicken feet and other equally appealing things. On the upside there was a perpetually waving cat at the reception desk (like this). They advertise on the website that there is a "Breaktaking Garden". Indeed.

Unfortunately the food was bland and made me feel a bit ill. But it was worth it to watch the pained expression of my one co-worker (a self professed "American Eater") attempt to stuff this crap down his throat. We laughed at him and made jokes about how he was going to make a bee line for McDonalds on his way to his next meeting. He said we were wrong, he planned to check out the vending machine in the office. Nothing a bag of Cheetos can't fix.

So if you find yourself north of Seattle, avoid the Zen Garden, unless of course you want a pork fried dumpling that tastes suspiciously like a Philly cheesesteak and some fried chicken feet...

Hey You, Big Girl...

There was a period of time when I was first pregnant where I didn't look pregnant, I just looked fat. You're sort of bloated and your pants don't fit and you're generally uncomfortable. If you're lucky like me you develop acne and just look gross. It's during this phase that you long for the day that you no longer look like a cow and begin to resemble a cute pregnant lady (even one with acne).

However, in keeping with my fantastic luck, I am now entering my third trimester and people still tell me I don't really look pregnant. Some people don't even notice. You're probably thinking this is a good thing. It's not. I'm carrying low and wide. This kid has spread out and made "her-ish" self at home - socking weight on me in places I didn't know I could gain weight. As one of my co-workers pointed out, "you just look bigger all over, not really pregnant". Delightful.

My husband swears I look pregnant. Probably because he has a faint recollection of what my ass looked like before this happened. But all this whining is not the point of my post. My real problem is the fat girls...

A few years ago, my friend from NYC was telling us this story about a guy she knew. They were in a bar and he was trying to point out a girl across the bar and in his description he said "the one with the peach belt". As it turns out this girl was in fact not wearing a peach belt but instead was just letting the goods hang out over her pants. At a distance it looked like a peach colored belt. There are many names for this phenomena - the "dunlop" (when you stomach done lop over your pants), a Muffin Top, FUPA (we won't elaborate on that one) or the classic - Love Handles.

In addition to low rise pants, it also seems to me that younger women are woefully flabby in the mid section. I see teenage girls wandering around with their guts hanging over the pants like a middle aged trailer dweller whose had 5 kids. What's up with that? Is there no shame left in this world? Don't their mothers tell them to get back in the house and cover that up? And don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about. You see them coming, belly jiggling like a bowl full of jello under their witty vintage t-shirt.

So while I found this trend among young girls offensive and sad, it really had nothing to do with me...until now.

The last several seasons flowy shirts have been in style and it seems that every fat chick has finally covered up the muffin top. Good for them, bad for me. Now I just look like every other fat girl hiding under a flowy top. At first I was pissed and thought to myself, "There's a lot of fat chicks out there stealing my thunder". Then I started to think about the upside to this situation.

- I can still get a glass of wine in a bar without people giving me the evil eye.
- I still get leered at on the street by men because they don't realize I'm knocked up (sure they may be fatty lovers, but I'll take what I can get these days).
- I can order a latte without being judged by the barista.
- I can still buy shirts in the non-maternity store since nothing is fitted these days.

However on the down side,

- No one goes out of their way to offer to help me with stuff.
- Strangers don't offer their seats to me.
- I don't get those looks from other women that say, "oh look, she's pregnant, how cute".

Like I said, stealing my thunder.... Makes me want to run out and buy one of those awful t-shirts that says something like, "Knocked-Up" with a giant arrow pointing down. Or better yet, I'll adopt a waddle and start clutching my stomach.

Or perhaps we can all make pregnant women everywhere happier - Next time you see a girl in a floaty top, ask her when she's due. We'll see how long she keeps stuffing her muffin into my clothes!

The Gift that Keeps on Giving

It's Friday night and my other half is somewhere in Germany for wedding festivities.  I on the other hand decided I would stay home so I didn't have to sit on a plane for 8 hours.  Don't feel bad for me, I've done several very exciting things this evening.  I microwaved dinner, I changed the roll of toilet paper, I did laundry, opened mail and I washed my flip flops.  

I'll bet you're asking yourself, "Gee, why would she be washing her flip flops?".  

Good question. I'll explain.

This morning I decided that I needed a pedicure so I went on the hunt for my flip flops.  Of course I have several pair, but only one that I really like.  I found them tied up in a plastic bag tossed in the bottom of my closet.  I thought that was odd until I remembered that my husband had picked them off the back porch of the beach house 2 weeks ago and thrown them in the bag for transport home.

Of course he did some sort of super duper quadruple knot in the plastic bag so that they couldn't possibly leave any dirt in the car.  All good, except for the fact that they were wet when they went into the bag.  

So at lunch time as I was getting ready to go see a daycare I thought I would put on the flip flops to walk the 8 blocks.  That is when I opened the bag and nearly died.  I do not know what happens to foam and nylon when you leave it damp in airtight plastic for 14 days but it was not good.  At first I couldn't comprehend what was creating such an awful stench.  Then I lifted a lone flip flop to my nose and sniffed.  Dear lord in heaven that is nasty.  I threw the whole mess back into the plastic bag, resealed it with several knots and proceeded to take a cab.

Sometimes boys don't think about these things.... 

I would also like to point out that I still need a pedicure.  

Ode to the Tamarind

This is awesome. Of all the people I've insulted over the years, this is certainly the most ridiculous. Some of you may recall a post of mine back in April about the time my husband dragged me to the Aldi when we were first living together.

This morning as I was enjoying my morning coffee (with caffeine, I don't care what you say about me) I looked in my email and found that some offended Spanish person had commented on this post.

"Offended Spanish Person said...
Typical white people. spicy latin foods make you instinctively go yuck!

Tamarind is a fruit. It is grown in pods, similar ot beans, and is popular in latin areas liek the carribbean and central/south america and southeast asia.

It's amazing how something can be popular in more than half the globe and white people have no idea it exists,now you know how we feel about bland, flavorless foods like wonderbread that you people seem to LOVE.

P.S. If you had been less lazy and maybe read the packaging you wouldn't have bought them. How hard is it to notice in big letters FRUTAS ENCHILADAS: aka fruits IN CHILIS!""

Yes, that's me. Just your typical Wonder Bread eating white person. My mother might have an aneurysm if she read that. Call her a progressive hippie tree hugger, but don't ever say she fed her children Wonder Bread. She would sooner die than feed us bread that was softer than a paving stone!

So I would like to respond to this poor offended Spanish person.

Dear Offended Spanish Person,
Please accept my heartfelt apologies. I in no way intended to offend the tamarind fruit or the culinary palate of "half the globe". I can certainly commiserate with your disdain for Wonder Bread. Perhaps you should also put Marshmallow Fluff and hydrogenated peanut butter on that list of bad food of the white man. Hell, I might also suggest adding - Hamburger Helper, Kraft Mac-N-Cheese and a helping of SPAM for good measure.

Indeed, it appears I was a bit lazy in not carefully inspecting the packaging. Certainly this product was in it's primary market. (I'm certain that neighborhood consumes tamarind by the truckload.) Clearly it was an error on my part to assume that I would find sugary sweet delight in the Jolly Rancher bag.

And finally, I must apologize for my lack of sarcasm and poor writing skills in the aforementioned post. Quiet honestly I could give a shit about the Tamarind or the chili lollipops. The real intention was to poke fun of my husband and his love of all things German. Clearly I missed the mark. I am shamed to admit that my humor must have been overcome by my vicious "instinctive white people hate" of Latin food.

Hallelujah! It's like uncovering childhood abuse through hypnotic therapy. Who knew I had such a fondness for squishy delightful white bread. Your comment on my post has opened up a whole new world to me. I think I'll go make myself a fluffer nutter right now.

I do hope you can forgive me and I think I speak on behalf of all white people everywhere when I tell you that we mean no harm to your "fuit, grown in pods, similar to beans". We just can't help ourselves, we're culturally stunted by consumer products and our oppressive parents.

Sincerely,
An Enlightened White Person