That is, in her own words, how my mom described our family this morning. Explains a lot, doesn't it?
Incidentally, I am working with AOL dial-up while I am here, so until I return to NYC on Monday, I may not be as rude and crude and loud and proud as frequently as I usually am online.
Saturday, October 7, 2006
Friday, October 6, 2006
The Horror! The Horror!
Growing up in the Chicago area, I was shielded from a childhood terror inflicted upon the less innocent children of the New York metropolitan area. Yes, I am talking about the nightmare-inducing product known as Cookie Puss.
Those of you who still have souls may wonder where this ghoulish Cookie Puss comes from. It is the ice cream cake that parents serve at children’s birthday parties when they want to ensure that their child never will never want to have another birthday party again. Introduced by Carvel, an ice cream chain in New York that dulls in comparison to the deliciousness of Dairy Queen, Cookie Puss is an ice cream cake shaped like some sort of alien. He has two cookies for eyes and an ice cream cone with a scoop of ice cream in it on the center of the cake as his nose. Around St. Patrick’s Day, Cookie Puss returns to outer space and his cousin from Ireland, O’Cookie Puss, is available at Carvel instead. (Seriously, you can’t make stuff like this up.)
My peaceful existence was shattered sometime while I was in college and went with Husband to a Carvel in Long Island. There, in the freezer case, was the most terrifying ice cream cake I ever saw. The cookie eyes were lined with red icing and the ice cream in the cone nose was purple and melting, leaving purple tack marks as it slid down the hideous creature’s face. It seems that Cookie Puss is an alien crack addict. If my parents had given me a cake like this, I would have never slept again.
Fast forward to today. I arrived in Chicago for the weekend, and asked my dad if he wanted to take a walk. We strolled over to the neighborhood strip mall, where to my great surprise and consternation, there is now a Carvel. I warned my dad that the scariest object known to man might lie inside, and we entered the shop cautiously. Peering into the freezer case, we saw it immediately. While Cookie Puss is not a crack head in the tony northern suburbs of Chicago, he does appear to be an addict of something, with eyes open wide and staring blankly, his iced mouth caught in some sort of silent scream. I called Husband and Brother-in-Law (who risked life and limb by bringing a Cookie Puss for dessert at Rosh Hashanah a few weeks ago) to tell them that it was not safe here any more. Husband immediately identified the problem. Cookie Puss in this community is addicted to OxyContin! (He has a bad “back.”) Shudder!
Damn this country. We used to have regional differences. Chicago was Dairy Queen turf! Now I can no longer sleep peacefully in my parents’ house knowing that Cookie Puss taunts me less than a half-mile away. So scary!
Those of you who still have souls may wonder where this ghoulish Cookie Puss comes from. It is the ice cream cake that parents serve at children’s birthday parties when they want to ensure that their child never will never want to have another birthday party again. Introduced by Carvel, an ice cream chain in New York that dulls in comparison to the deliciousness of Dairy Queen, Cookie Puss is an ice cream cake shaped like some sort of alien. He has two cookies for eyes and an ice cream cone with a scoop of ice cream in it on the center of the cake as his nose. Around St. Patrick’s Day, Cookie Puss returns to outer space and his cousin from Ireland, O’Cookie Puss, is available at Carvel instead. (Seriously, you can’t make stuff like this up.)
My peaceful existence was shattered sometime while I was in college and went with Husband to a Carvel in Long Island. There, in the freezer case, was the most terrifying ice cream cake I ever saw. The cookie eyes were lined with red icing and the ice cream in the cone nose was purple and melting, leaving purple tack marks as it slid down the hideous creature’s face. It seems that Cookie Puss is an alien crack addict. If my parents had given me a cake like this, I would have never slept again.
Fast forward to today. I arrived in Chicago for the weekend, and asked my dad if he wanted to take a walk. We strolled over to the neighborhood strip mall, where to my great surprise and consternation, there is now a Carvel. I warned my dad that the scariest object known to man might lie inside, and we entered the shop cautiously. Peering into the freezer case, we saw it immediately. While Cookie Puss is not a crack head in the tony northern suburbs of Chicago, he does appear to be an addict of something, with eyes open wide and staring blankly, his iced mouth caught in some sort of silent scream. I called Husband and Brother-in-Law (who risked life and limb by bringing a Cookie Puss for dessert at Rosh Hashanah a few weeks ago) to tell them that it was not safe here any more. Husband immediately identified the problem. Cookie Puss in this community is addicted to OxyContin! (He has a bad “back.”) Shudder!
Damn this country. We used to have regional differences. Chicago was Dairy Queen turf! Now I can no longer sleep peacefully in my parents’ house knowing that Cookie Puss taunts me less than a half-mile away. So scary!
All in the Family-in-Law
In about one year, my mother-in-law (MIL) will gain a second daughter-in-law. Although Brother-in-Law (BIL) is as odd as Husband is (in his own special way, of course), don’t worry about MIL needing to cope with another freak for a daughter-in-law. Nope, Future-Sister-in-Law (FSIL – she doesn’t like the acronym for Brother-in-Law’s Spouse, although I find it hilarious) is not only stylish, well-groomed, and intelligent, but she is also normal.
For example, let’s say something malodorous permeated the air. FSIL will cheerfully wrinkle her cute nose and refer to whatever is offending the senses as “smelly.” I, on the other hand, will ask what “reeks like a rank fucking plop of diarrhea” and then laugh hysterically. Sure, she likes sci fi, but she keeps her “uncool” predilections much better hidden than I do and is polite.
Not only is FSIL pleasant and attractive, but she also wants to have kids. I am a dried up barren hag who most likely could not produce an heir to Husband’s currently non-existent fortune even if I wanted to. It’s not that I don’t like kids, because I do, and I am very dedicated to ensuring that less privileged children get a fair shake in life, but I prefer them at a distance and/or in short bursts. Thus my destiny as the runner-up daughter-in-law is fait accompli – MIL can’t wait to have some cute potentially red headed grandkids.
Don’t get me wrong. She never nags me or bothers me about it, and Husband insists I am being ridiculous. Still, I’m jealous. Who knew that sibling rivalry extended to sibling-in-laws?
For example, let’s say something malodorous permeated the air. FSIL will cheerfully wrinkle her cute nose and refer to whatever is offending the senses as “smelly.” I, on the other hand, will ask what “reeks like a rank fucking plop of diarrhea” and then laugh hysterically. Sure, she likes sci fi, but she keeps her “uncool” predilections much better hidden than I do and is polite.
Not only is FSIL pleasant and attractive, but she also wants to have kids. I am a dried up barren hag who most likely could not produce an heir to Husband’s currently non-existent fortune even if I wanted to. It’s not that I don’t like kids, because I do, and I am very dedicated to ensuring that less privileged children get a fair shake in life, but I prefer them at a distance and/or in short bursts. Thus my destiny as the runner-up daughter-in-law is fait accompli – MIL can’t wait to have some cute potentially red headed grandkids.
Don’t get me wrong. She never nags me or bothers me about it, and Husband insists I am being ridiculous. Still, I’m jealous. Who knew that sibling rivalry extended to sibling-in-laws?
Thursday, October 5, 2006
Moving Right Along...
Whistling: Footloose and fancy free.. Damn, the Muppets are awesome!
Anyway, today was my last day in my current do-gooder job. I only hope that my next do-gooder job, whatever that might be, will have as powerfully flushing toilets as this places does. Right now, that is going to be home, which is definitely a quality toilet, although it is hissing non-stop and I need to have the super come look at it.
Mostly I am feeling more optimistic about my immediate future than I did a few days ago. My plan is to set up a consulting service on child care facilities and financing, which may or may not bring in some dough. At the same time, I received a very nice lead on a potential publisher for my proposed book on weird things to see and do in NYC, and am sending out the proposal with renwed vigor. Plus, there are at least five potential articles for magazines floating around in my little head.
All this should keep me busy, and hopefully get me out of the house a bit. Fortunately, Husband's health insurance covers me (and actually only covers me because I have no other insurance options; when I worked full-time, this was a serious bone of contention with me because I could not be on his plan although it was far better than mine, clearly discriminating against working spouses) and his salary also allows me to continue eating from first-hand sources instead of the trash in the event that this grand experiment fails. I am extremely lucky. Now I only need to worry about finding good bathrooms to do my business while I go about my business.
Anyway, today was my last day in my current do-gooder job. I only hope that my next do-gooder job, whatever that might be, will have as powerfully flushing toilets as this places does. Right now, that is going to be home, which is definitely a quality toilet, although it is hissing non-stop and I need to have the super come look at it.
Mostly I am feeling more optimistic about my immediate future than I did a few days ago. My plan is to set up a consulting service on child care facilities and financing, which may or may not bring in some dough. At the same time, I received a very nice lead on a potential publisher for my proposed book on weird things to see and do in NYC, and am sending out the proposal with renwed vigor. Plus, there are at least five potential articles for magazines floating around in my little head.
All this should keep me busy, and hopefully get me out of the house a bit. Fortunately, Husband's health insurance covers me (and actually only covers me because I have no other insurance options; when I worked full-time, this was a serious bone of contention with me because I could not be on his plan although it was far better than mine, clearly discriminating against working spouses) and his salary also allows me to continue eating from first-hand sources instead of the trash in the event that this grand experiment fails. I am extremely lucky. Now I only need to worry about finding good bathrooms to do my business while I go about my business.
Oh Those Wacky Brits
In my humble opinion, anything done in England is 90% more likely to be interesting than something done in the US. This unscientific percentage was confirmed by Insomniac earlier this week when she led my innocent eyes to UK Nova – I Can’t Believe It’s Not Television, which apparently allows people to download wonderfully wacky programs. Their admirable goal “is to provide the absolutely latest and greatest TV programs from the UK,” so you know it is gonna be good.
If you can open an account, you can down load these fine documentaries:
And speaking of penis issues, my sister randomly gave me a perfect anecdote from this side of the pond (albeit the other side of the Mississippi). She was subbing at a pre-school when one of the kids decided to use the toilet. As he did his business (number two), he looked down at his lap and remarked to another teacher, “Wow, my privates are getting big!” I guess the obsession begins at a much younger age than I thought.
If you can open an account, you can down load these fine documentaries:
** I thought I might re-dress the balance with the "Penis" programmes--------------------
** uploaded here recently !
DOCUMENTARY: Private Parts (2 of 3) - The Trouble With My Vagina
Channel: five 5
Date: Monday 22nd May 2006
Duration: 45:35 (Ads Removed)
Documentary revealing some of the dangers of the new post-'Sex in the City' frankness about female sexuality - from Brazilian waxing accidents to designer vagina surgeries gone wrong.
The Perfect PenisTwo questions: 1. Why oh why do we not get such fine and fascinating programming here in the prudish US of A? (Sigh. I sooooo want to see the show with Brazilian waxes gone wrong!) 2. Am I overacting because it annoys me that “The Perfect Penis” is two minutes and five seconds longer than “The Trouble with My Vagina?”
OK boys & girls, here's more "Penis Envy" from Channel 4, broadcast earlier this year.
DOCUMENTARY: The Perfect Penis
Channel: Channel 4
Date: Monday 30th January 2006
Duration: 47:40 (Ads Removed)
For some men bigger - whether by mechanical, herbal or surgical means - will always mean better.
The penis is the organ most central to a man's sense of self, and the quest for penile perfection has driven some men to extraordinary and dangerous lengths.
This programme meets the Russian surgeons who chopped off a man's penis and re-grew it on his arm, the man whose penis has real pulling power, and the man for whom too big is just not big enough.
And speaking of penis issues, my sister randomly gave me a perfect anecdote from this side of the pond (albeit the other side of the Mississippi). She was subbing at a pre-school when one of the kids decided to use the toilet. As he did his business (number two), he looked down at his lap and remarked to another teacher, “Wow, my privates are getting big!” I guess the obsession begins at a much younger age than I thought.
Wednesday, October 4, 2006
On Your Knees, Hastert
When sucking the Republican dick to save your job, please remember to use mouth wash afterwards, though. No one likes to smell jizz breath on the House floor. (Or maybe they do and that's part of the problem.)(Picture from The New York Post, normally not a friend to CUSS, but today is my lucky day! And thanks to the Insomniac for pointing the pic out to me. Priceless.)
Coincidence? I Think Not!
Someone from Beaver, PA visited CUSS today after using the search term "i'm unshaved."
I love it.
I love it.
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