Some people hoard pets. More often, people hoard money. Weirdos hoard children (especially ones with disabilities). Husband and I got them all beat (except for the disabled kid collectors): we hoard furniture.
When we tied the knot in 2000, we registered for a $199 dining table that folded in half and four $35 chairs. A group of his co-workers pitched in and got us the table and two chairs, we bought the other two, and we were psyched. How adult of us to have a matching table set! Fast forward six years. The table is warped, cracked, and has random items stuck to it. (We keep a lot of mail and newspapers on the table, and when someone spills, a mess ensues.) Despite my affection for the set, it was clearly time to move on. Fortunately, we scored a lovely polished wood table and six chairs with cushiony seats at a random sale at Macy’s. The table also has two extension leafs, so we should be able to comfortably seat 12 at Thanksgiving. It was delivered today, and if I felt grown up six years ago, I feel grown up and semi-pretentious now. It is crazy having real furniture!
The problem is that we also still have the old dining set. I hate to part with four perfectly good chairs, and I discovered that the folded table makes for a perfect writing table. Thus our living room now is stocked with: two couches; a crappy $20 coffee table from Ikea with legs that Tycho the 14 lb. rabbit likes to nibble on; two ginormous lavender leather Ethan Allen chairs that Husband saw on Craig’s List for $100 bucks a pop and insisted we must own; an Ikea entertainment center, two bookcases (one of which I found abandoned on the street); an Ikea computer desk; two end tables (one of which we rescued from the trash room of our old building, the other bought for $10 at a street sale in Boston); a rocking chair that we bought at the same street sale in Boston for an amazing $5 (and later added a $15 cushion to); four baby gates; a grandfather clock made out of puzzle pieces that I bought for Husband for our 1st wedding anniversary; two little sets of shelving; a CD shelving unit; and last but not least, Tycho’s “studio apartment” (i.e. – a giant dog cage and some space to run around in, plus a litter box); plus four dining room chairs, a folding chair for the computer desk, and the folded dining table. Oh yeah, and two folded snack tables. Obviously, something is going to have to go.
The dining room has the nice new table and chairs set, in addition to: two folded beach chairs; three folding tables (folded); about 10 folded folding chairs (four of which belong to Brother-in-Law); a turquoise leather armchair that we bought at a street sale on our block for $25; two dining chairs that I salvaged from the curb (these will definitely be trashed, though); a little nightstand that I snagged from the curb near Dr. P’s apartment, which we store our dish towels and table cloths; and a microwave cart. Yep, it is crowded in there, too.
As I was bemoaning how respectable we’ve become with such a fancy dining room table and chairs, Brother-in-Law laughed his ass off and reminded me that nothing in our apartment matches. I’m glad that we are still on our theme of completely random décor that often came from the trash or yard sales. That realization made me feel much better. Whew!
Thursday, October 12, 2006
Wednesday, October 11, 2006
I Feel So Boring in Comparison
My friend the Big O sent me the following message:
My only evidence comes from the awesome snatchtoo picture from a Taschen book on tattoos:
Seriously, I think it is well worth a shaved snatch if you are going to deliver a clever message like, “No meat on Fridays.” That just cracks me up, although I have to say things look a bit itchy down there as the hair grows back.
Back to piercings, if anyone has more knowledge of this than me (which is obviously zilch), please speak up.
In vagina related news, I have a Jdate on Friday night with a girl who has nipple piercings, a hood piercing, and 2 labia piercings. Yes, this somehow came up in an online conversation. There might be an interesting relationship between vaginal piercings and muff fullness. Perhaps worthy of discussing on your blog?Interesting. I’ve never really thought about it, although I suspect that the relationship between snatch pierces and a pubic ‘fro are inversely proportional. That is, the more piercings one has, the less likely she is to have big bush. Otherwise, how would one see the rings and studs? Plus, it seems like hairs could get caught and create some big problems.
My only evidence comes from the awesome snatchtoo picture from a Taschen book on tattoos:
Seriously, I think it is well worth a shaved snatch if you are going to deliver a clever message like, “No meat on Fridays.” That just cracks me up, although I have to say things look a bit itchy down there as the hair grows back.Back to piercings, if anyone has more knowledge of this than me (which is obviously zilch), please speak up.
I'm Deemed a "Decent Enough" Writer! Yippee!
Back in August, my friend Des had her blog reviewed by the critical folks at Ask and Ye Shall Receive, which sounds very subservient until you realize that the URL is “iwillfuckingtearyouapart.” As such a URL indicates, these people make me look like Snow White happily caring for six sloppy, mining dwarves. Of course, I requested a review.
My wish was granted on Oct. 8 by Atomic Fireballs. On the upside, I received a total of two stars (yay!), as Mr./Ms. Fireballs “genuinely enjoy[ed] some posts that I read through in terms of content, spelling and grammar” (star ein) and for “liking to complain so much, and for the Shawshank love” (star tzwei). On the downside, Fireballs threw me not one, but two flaming fingers “because I fucking LOATHE the pink template and I'm not keen on the title.” I also was deemed a ‘tard because Fireballs notes, “I hate when bloggers can't give the people in their lives names. His name isn't husband, he has a real name. Like I suggested, make up a name for him or call him by his middle name.”
I’ll take the stars gladly, as well as one of the flaming fingers. (The bright pink background is a bit harsh on the eyes, no arguments there.) I don’t give a rat’s ass if the title displeases Fireballs. I’m on a mission, damn it! I also will proudly ride the short bus for giving people in my life titles and not names. If I had to remember a fake name for everyone, I probably wouldn’t, and thus write confusing posts in which sometimes Husband is known as “Stu” and other times “Maurice” because I’d forget what I already called him. Plus I don’t have to re-explain every time I write who “Stu” or “Maurice” is for any new readers; Husband is obvious. So too fucking bad.
Anyway, I am glad that I asked and received. I will say that I find it a tad ironic that when they let me know that the review was done, they posted a broken link in my comments on Oct. 8. For people who are so strict about blog templates, grammar, and spelling, one would think they’d be sure to be perfect when it comes to linking to their own site. (Not that we all aren’t guilty of broken links, but I’m just saying.) They also kindly offer help with designing a template, which is extremely generous of them. (Des took them up on it and has a very cool template as a result.) Read the review (and comment) for yourself at Ask and Ye Shall Receive.
My wish was granted on Oct. 8 by Atomic Fireballs. On the upside, I received a total of two stars (yay!), as Mr./Ms. Fireballs “genuinely enjoy[ed] some posts that I read through in terms of content, spelling and grammar” (star ein) and for “liking to complain so much, and for the Shawshank love” (star tzwei). On the downside, Fireballs threw me not one, but two flaming fingers “because I fucking LOATHE the pink template and I'm not keen on the title.” I also was deemed a ‘tard because Fireballs notes, “I hate when bloggers can't give the people in their lives names. His name isn't husband, he has a real name. Like I suggested, make up a name for him or call him by his middle name.”
I’ll take the stars gladly, as well as one of the flaming fingers. (The bright pink background is a bit harsh on the eyes, no arguments there.) I don’t give a rat’s ass if the title displeases Fireballs. I’m on a mission, damn it! I also will proudly ride the short bus for giving people in my life titles and not names. If I had to remember a fake name for everyone, I probably wouldn’t, and thus write confusing posts in which sometimes Husband is known as “Stu” and other times “Maurice” because I’d forget what I already called him. Plus I don’t have to re-explain every time I write who “Stu” or “Maurice” is for any new readers; Husband is obvious. So too fucking bad.
Anyway, I am glad that I asked and received. I will say that I find it a tad ironic that when they let me know that the review was done, they posted a broken link in my comments on Oct. 8. For people who are so strict about blog templates, grammar, and spelling, one would think they’d be sure to be perfect when it comes to linking to their own site. (Not that we all aren’t guilty of broken links, but I’m just saying.) They also kindly offer help with designing a template, which is extremely generous of them. (Des took them up on it and has a very cool template as a result.) Read the review (and comment) for yourself at Ask and Ye Shall Receive.
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
Death in the Air
On my way walking home from buying an engagement present for BIL and FSIL on behalf of my peeps in the Midwest, the roar of sirens filled the air. Since this happens routinely in Manhattan, I didn’t pay too much attention to it. However, as I neared my apartment, the emergency workers were decamping on W. 73rd Street. A bus was stopped mid-turn. One of the cops was asking another one where the tape was. A human silhouette lay on the street, under white sheets. I shuddered.
Later, I went to make some respectable business cards for my new consulting practice at Kinko’s, and I had to pass the crime scene on the way. Most of the crowds had dispersed by then. I was at Kinko’s for 20 minutes (the woman ringing me up kept overcharging me), and when I left, sirens again blared up the street. Nothing new was going on at the crime scene, though.
Then I turned the corner onto Amsterdam, and new tape was blocking off the street. Traffic was backing up and trapped – they could not go up Amsterdam or turn off on W. 73rd. Crowds were again assembling. Then I noticed the lone vehicle (a tractor trailer) in the street and the white sheets underneath it. Another pedestrian run down, for a total of two dead within a block and a half in the past hour and a half or so.
One of the women standing around approached me and told me she’d been on the bus when it hit the man. It seems that he was running across the street and when he stepped up on the curb, he lost his balance and fell backward. His head was immediately crushed under the wheels of the bus as it approached to make a right turn. As this same woman was giving her statement to the police, she heard screaming. The police radio crackled with static and the news that a woman appearing to be in her early 60s was hit by the semi. Her head was crushed also.
I plan to be more careful when I cross the street in the future. Life is fleeting.
Later, I went to make some respectable business cards for my new consulting practice at Kinko’s, and I had to pass the crime scene on the way. Most of the crowds had dispersed by then. I was at Kinko’s for 20 minutes (the woman ringing me up kept overcharging me), and when I left, sirens again blared up the street. Nothing new was going on at the crime scene, though.
Then I turned the corner onto Amsterdam, and new tape was blocking off the street. Traffic was backing up and trapped – they could not go up Amsterdam or turn off on W. 73rd. Crowds were again assembling. Then I noticed the lone vehicle (a tractor trailer) in the street and the white sheets underneath it. Another pedestrian run down, for a total of two dead within a block and a half in the past hour and a half or so.
One of the women standing around approached me and told me she’d been on the bus when it hit the man. It seems that he was running across the street and when he stepped up on the curb, he lost his balance and fell backward. His head was immediately crushed under the wheels of the bus as it approached to make a right turn. As this same woman was giving her statement to the police, she heard screaming. The police radio crackled with static and the news that a woman appearing to be in her early 60s was hit by the semi. Her head was crushed also.
I plan to be more careful when I cross the street in the future. Life is fleeting.
Vagina 'staches and Clown Wigs
BUST is a feminist rag that I used to read religiously back in the days when it was a quarterly ‘zine. Then one of the founders (Marcelle) had a kid and left, and the remaining woman (Debbie) sold the magazine to some conglomerate, who was supposed to offer it up as a monthly glossy, but basically ran it into the ground instead. That sucked. However, Debbie raised funds and bought BUST back, and began publishing it as a glossy bimonthly. She also changed up the direction of the magazine to offer more info on crafts, fashion, and cosmetics. It was more about embracing your inner girliness. Suddenly, I found BUST not up my alley. I mean, sure, alternative fashion and make-up beats out the shit the mainstream women’s mags hawk, and I do so love crafts, but I’m not that into reading about them. I switched my feminist subscription to the surlier Bitch magazine.
At any rate I read BUST on Friday for the first time in ages just to get a feel for the magazine in case I want to submit any freelance pieces to it in the. And lo and behold, I came across one of the greatest articles ever. , Count Mockula scooped me on this in my comments section last week, but in an interview with the ever fantastic Amy Poehler (ye of Upright Citizens Brigade and Saturday Night Live), a whole discussion about ladies’ bushes emerged as they were discussing the movie Carrie. (Horny folks desperate to see unshaved snatch take note: Amy recommends it for checking out “some full, ‘70s bush.”)
Jill Soloway (ye of Six Feet Under) did the interview, and she asked Amy the very question that I have pondered here at CUSS a few times: “Do you think there’s going to be any kind of bush replacement, if it comes back in style, for people who’ve lasered it off?” To which I answer, of course it will come back in style. Everything comes in circles. Amy brilliantly answered, “I don’t know… women [in Penthouse have] such a small amount of hair, it wouldn’t even qualify as a fake moustache anymore…” She goes on to call Brazilian waxed snatches “vagina mustaches.” Jill describes full bush as “clown wigs down there.” Ooooh, I love it!
Best of all, Amy Poehler ends the interview by advising girls to, “Just hang in there, and stay in school. And grow your bush out wide, tall, and proud.” Are these not words to live by? These are women of my own heart. I think I need to send Amy and Jill some CUSS stickers.
At any rate I read BUST on Friday for the first time in ages just to get a feel for the magazine in case I want to submit any freelance pieces to it in the. And lo and behold, I came across one of the greatest articles ever. , Count Mockula scooped me on this in my comments section last week, but in an interview with the ever fantastic Amy Poehler (ye of Upright Citizens Brigade and Saturday Night Live), a whole discussion about ladies’ bushes emerged as they were discussing the movie Carrie. (Horny folks desperate to see unshaved snatch take note: Amy recommends it for checking out “some full, ‘70s bush.”)
Jill Soloway (ye of Six Feet Under) did the interview, and she asked Amy the very question that I have pondered here at CUSS a few times: “Do you think there’s going to be any kind of bush replacement, if it comes back in style, for people who’ve lasered it off?” To which I answer, of course it will come back in style. Everything comes in circles. Amy brilliantly answered, “I don’t know… women [in Penthouse have] such a small amount of hair, it wouldn’t even qualify as a fake moustache anymore…” She goes on to call Brazilian waxed snatches “vagina mustaches.” Jill describes full bush as “clown wigs down there.” Ooooh, I love it!
Best of all, Amy Poehler ends the interview by advising girls to, “Just hang in there, and stay in school. And grow your bush out wide, tall, and proud.” Are these not words to live by? These are women of my own heart. I think I need to send Amy and Jill some CUSS stickers.
Monday, October 9, 2006
Happy Oct. 9
I hate unseasonal weather, like, for example, when it is 80 degrees on Oct. 9. It just throws me off a bit. That said, I actually appreciated the warmth this afternoon when I stepped outside of the airport, only to see the (nearly empty) bus cruise by me. Anyone who has attempted to take the M60 from LaGuardia Airport knows that this means two things: a 20-30 minute wait for the next bus, and a crowded next bus at that. Thus, I was glad that it was so pleasant today.
The flight arrived early, so that was good, but I missed the bus because it took forever for the checked bags to arrive. I never check bags for this reason. However, as we are no longer allowed to bring liquids on the plane, I was forced to take a hideous tan-and-cream fuzzy blanket that Bubbe insisted on purchasing for me eons ago that I unwisely forgot that I hid under my bed, only to be found out when she decided to give me her old bed and thus furniture was moved. I explained that I couldn’t take it back with me in the past because I had too much stuff, but I’m not sure she ever really bought that excuse. At any rate, it worked out perfectly (other than the timing) because the blanket comes in a handy carrying case. I stuffed the Dark Cherry Jam that I bought at the Iowa state fair and the Cranberry & Plum Wine that I bought in Iowa’s Amish country (you know how Iowa is known for its vineyards – ha ha ha!) when I visited my sister in August into the blanket, which protected the potentially messy contents in the cargo hold. Also, it meant that I did not have to check anything valuable, as I carried on my small overnight bag.
My flight to New York was also crowded, but otherwise not bad. Unlike my trip west, I did not get an upgrade, but that was fine by me. (Who needs food and breathing room when you can get a mere glass of water and spend some time crammed in with your fellow masses yearning to breathe freedom?)
Anyway, it is good to be home, and I am looking forward to seeing Husband, although I already miss my foul-mouthed granny, my mom (who I decided might be defying some sort of weird time-space continuum and thus we are actually twins, with her being born 29 years ahead of me and then implanted with her own sister which she believed was her daughter), my dad, nutty bubbe, and of course, sister. I wish we lived a wee bit closer. (But not that too much.)
The flight arrived early, so that was good, but I missed the bus because it took forever for the checked bags to arrive. I never check bags for this reason. However, as we are no longer allowed to bring liquids on the plane, I was forced to take a hideous tan-and-cream fuzzy blanket that Bubbe insisted on purchasing for me eons ago that I unwisely forgot that I hid under my bed, only to be found out when she decided to give me her old bed and thus furniture was moved. I explained that I couldn’t take it back with me in the past because I had too much stuff, but I’m not sure she ever really bought that excuse. At any rate, it worked out perfectly (other than the timing) because the blanket comes in a handy carrying case. I stuffed the Dark Cherry Jam that I bought at the Iowa state fair and the Cranberry & Plum Wine that I bought in Iowa’s Amish country (you know how Iowa is known for its vineyards – ha ha ha!) when I visited my sister in August into the blanket, which protected the potentially messy contents in the cargo hold. Also, it meant that I did not have to check anything valuable, as I carried on my small overnight bag.
My flight to New York was also crowded, but otherwise not bad. Unlike my trip west, I did not get an upgrade, but that was fine by me. (Who needs food and breathing room when you can get a mere glass of water and spend some time crammed in with your fellow masses yearning to breathe freedom?)
Anyway, it is good to be home, and I am looking forward to seeing Husband, although I already miss my foul-mouthed granny, my mom (who I decided might be defying some sort of weird time-space continuum and thus we are actually twins, with her being born 29 years ahead of me and then implanted with her own sister which she believed was her daughter), my dad, nutty bubbe, and of course, sister. I wish we lived a wee bit closer. (But not that too much.)
Sunday, October 8, 2006
Attack of the Grandmothers
Two grandmother incidents took place this weekend:
1. Last night while Sister, Sister's Husband, and I drove Bubbe home from dinner, she randomly launched into a raunchy Yiddish ditty that roughly translates into:
2. Tonight I went with my mother over to my grandma's house. As they were crabbing at each other, my grandmother told my mom she was a putz and then also muttered, "Cunt." I didn't hear it, but my mom got mad and then my granny said, "She always gets mad when I say cunt." I pointed out that most people don't like being called a cunt, and she looked at me as though I were on crack.
Family.
1. Last night while Sister, Sister's Husband, and I drove Bubbe home from dinner, she randomly launched into a raunchy Yiddish ditty that roughly translates into:
Hurry before my ass gets coldI'm sure this makes much more sense in Yiddish (which I did write down, just in case), but we found it pretty hilarious. And disturbing.
and while my front is wet,
but no one wants to have sex with me
because I'm old.
2. Tonight I went with my mother over to my grandma's house. As they were crabbing at each other, my grandmother told my mom she was a putz and then also muttered, "Cunt." I didn't hear it, but my mom got mad and then my granny said, "She always gets mad when I say cunt." I pointed out that most people don't like being called a cunt, and she looked at me as though I were on crack.
Family.
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