H is for Hilarious, Hot, and (Making Me) Hungry

To keep myself busy with things that don’t pay (thus cementing my kept-woman status), I volunteered to review blogs for National Blog Posting Month. (As a person who is addicted to blogging, I signed for NaBloPoMo as soon as I heard about it. After all, I already blog at least once daily - if only methadone or some other detox pill were available - and there are prizes that can be won! Prizes! Husband loves prizes!) I promise to be on my best behavior as a reviewer. That said, I have one request: please, people, do not fucking post in yellow! Do you know how much squinting I had to do to complete my task?!?!?

Anyway, it is raining and miserable here, and so I read 58 blogs with titles beginning with H this morning while still in my pajamas. A quick breakdown:

• 38% are out of the running (If a person posted daily through Nov. 7, I gave credit. But it is scary how many people can’t keep up for a mere seven days. What, they have lives or something? Madness!)


• 46% are about random things that happen to people in the course of every day life, stories, and other things that pop into people’s minds as they blog


• 26% are mommy/parenting blogs (two were group blogs by both parents)


• 7% seem to be about the arts (photography, painting, etc.) or crafts (knitting, sewing)


• 7% seemed to have a food focus


• 2% are in the student/teacher group (again, that's probably short, it's hard to tell who students are sometimes)


• 3% were not in English, meaning that my pathetic American-educated brain could not understand what was written


• 12% focused on other things, such as work support or animals

Hands down, my favorite H blog is HeatEatReview. The find minds and tongues at HeatEatReview are here to help. “Our mission is to eat at work (or school or home), then report back to you on ease of preparation, deliciousness, and bang for the buck of each item.” Isn’t that nice off them? As a lazy New Yorker with limited kitchen skills, this is priceless advice. It is dished out with a great sense of humor, and the template is fantastic. If I learned nothing else during NaBloPoMo, I at least know where to turn when I want to know if I should buy frozen Indian food for dinner. Brilliant!

H is for “honorable” and “hilarious,” and there are many honorable mentions to go around for humorous blogs. The Half Head brought a smile to my face. Two Heathers (stay away from Winona Ryder and Christian Slater, ladies!), Heather Ann and Heather Nicole completely cracked me up. Heather Nicole is utterly irreverent. Love it. How Now, Wit? lives up to its lofty goals as well.

H does not stand for “good writing” or “art,” but whatever. I liked the writing and stories found at Hectic Mom’s Blog, Hollywood Flakes, and Happily Ever After, especially her post on formula feeding her kids. I also like the funky artworks highlighted every day at Hashiworks

Tomorrow's reviews will be brought to you by the letter I.

Fashion is Torture

So Americans voted yesterday, and one of the things we seem to be voting against is how things are going in Iraq. Extrapolating a bit, you could say that Americans are against torturing prisoners. On the other hand, an article from The Guardian about how fashion for women is often literally torturous is an excellent read. Over the past year or so, I’ve been wandering around muttering about why “sexy” seems to mean “extraordinarily painful” for women. What is attractive about grimacing from physical discomfort? (And why is my grimacing over the stupidity of others not considered nearly as attractive as clenching my teeth in pain?) But men nor women seem to object to this abuse. Fanny Johnstone, the author, is on that fine wavelength, and the article amusingly attacks many of my pet peeves.

She reminds us that, “this autumn's shoe of the season - with versions by everyone from Kurt Geiger to YSL - has a nine-inch heel and a three-inch platform sole, which forces its wearer into the toe-pummelling posture of a ballet dancer on points.” In a historical context, this is nothing, as 15th Venetian prostitutes and women of wealth both wore shoes called chopines, which could have platforms as high as 30 inches. But think about it: neither or these women spent much time on their feet. Perhaps women who wear such inane shoes today also have servants to support them as they walk into lunch at The Ivy or wherever it is that the fashion conscious eat salad these days.

Since the article was about clothes, there was no mention of the insanity of having pubic hair ripped from the sensitive nether regions for style purposes (and certainly no reference to having crystals glued on to the newly bare area), but the torture sentiment is the same. Don’t believe me? Read Dawn’s so-funny-it-hurts (literally) account of her Brazilian wax at I am doing the best I can. Sure, it might be less painful next time, but why on earth would there be a next time if it was so excruciating in the first place?

Lunatic Watch

If anyone else is watching the election coverage on CNN tonight, can you plesae verify that Bill Bennett is a complete crack head? He just insisted that every 6 years, about 25 seats in the House turnover. Maybe that's the case, but he seems to have pulled that stat out of his ass. If that's how he gambles, no wonder he lost so much money.

11:16 PM Update

Yes, Bill Bennett is delusional. He just insisted that Bush will change his approach to Iraq. I'm not sure where Bennett has been for the past, oh, six years, but Bush only digs his heels in deeper when questioned or challenged.

We Need a Plan B in the Voting Booth

I voted this afternoon, although there is nothing particularly exciting about the election here in New York City. On the other hand, Plan B did hit pharmacy shelves so that as of today, women can buy them without a prescription. It's sort of symbolic of what might happen with the election results - abort 'em!

Just kidding. Not about the assholes who make our national laws these days, of course. We really do need to get rid of them, although I really don't want a big victory for Democrats. Like an unwanted pregnancy, there is no good solution for the situation the US finds itself in these days. Since there is not way to fix Iraq, the deficit, security, etc, I don't want this hanging over the Democrats' heads in 2008. Not that Dems are not partly to blame for the mess, as most of them went along like sheep (my friend Mara calls such people "sheeple" - love that), but the Republicans deserve to really baste in the juices that they so eagerly squirting into the roasting pan.

And I didn't even mean that in a perverse way.

Girl, You'll Be a Woman Soon (or Not)

From completely bare, a dementedly popular torture chamber - er, I mean waxing salon - that seems to believe that people are not mammals:

Who says you can't be sexy even when its not summer...
Like all fashion trends, beauty treatments come and go, one day they're hot, they next day they're not. The need for hair removal doesn't change, but how you get to be bare down there and the style you choose, like fashion, changes from season to season. The experts at completely bare know that the Brazilian bikini is out. Now it's time to go completely bare with a flair. Accessorize your own jewels…with crystals.

Whether your choice of hair removal is completely bare's core treatment - EpiLight™ permanent hair reduction - or a French wax, - you can be sure that your bikini area will sparkle.

Accessorizing your privates is the hottest rage. From crystal flowers to customized favorites, you too can now decorate your own jewels. Whether it's a special occasion or you just want to sparkle everywhere, you can choose from an assortment of real swarovski crystal designs so you can shimmer and shine.

There are several points at which I refuse to believe that the proprietors of completely bare are not falling on the floor as they shreik with laughter. "Can you believe that women pay for this shit?" I imagine them asking themselves, wiping the tears from the corners of their cosmetically enhanced eye sockets and high-fiving each other. I mean really, who on earth can in one paragraph admit that beauty trends come and go, but that they have the secret to the one trend that will stay cool forever? (Of course, it better stay in style forever for those womenwho neglect to understand that styles "come and go" and permanently remove their pubes.)

Another response: is there not something frighteningly childish about tearing out all your pubes and gluing sparkly things on in their place? If I were a guy (or woman) about to engage in some hot action with someone and I saw that, I would run away screaming. As fast as I could. Because this is something that 8 year olds think is cool. And this is coming from a woman who really likes sparkling things and bows and ribbons. It's not like I am the most mature and age-relevant person out there.
(Incidentally, when I showed this picture to Husband, he thought that it was a tatoo of a zipper. I admit that would be kind of cool, as it demonstrates some bitchin' humor.)

Ladies: crystals on the cootie are creepy. Show some fucking respect for yourselves and your adult "jewels."

Post-Party Hangover

Husband and I went to Brother-in-Law (BiL) and Future Sister-in-Law’s (FSiL) engagement extravaganza yesterday. We had a very nice time chatting up friends and family, overeating (OK, that was me, not Husband, who showed amazing restraint when faced with a buffet overflowing with super yummy breakfast foods, plus cookies, cake and ice cream), and engaging in hysterical laughter with Rebecca as we reminisced about the great moments in Borat (OK, also me, not Husband). Two things left a bad taste in my mouth when I woke up this morning, though.

The first was acid reflux and a horrid stomach ache, which I blame squarely on my in-laws for providing such an amazing amount of delicious food. Damn, I way overdid it, but how could I help it? The French toast was calling to me like Sirens to a ship in a storm. I dropped two torpedoes in the toilet last night, and nuclear payload this morning. Danger!

However, I am more or less used to this reaction to a party, so I am not too bothered by it. What is proving to be a stick in my craw is a disturbing conversation that Husband and I had with two other guests, a husband and wife. We were talking about my (hopefully) new career as a freelance writer, and so the topic of women changing their names when they get married arose. Felicia said that it wound up being a huge pain in the ass to change her name. Jack justified his insistence that she do so by repeatedly noting that 1. her former surname was “boring,” and 2. she didn’t need to carry on her family legacy because she had siblings who could do so. Jack’s father jumped in and said that Jack should just admit that he is a traditional person and that is why he asked Felicia to change her name. Jack refused to acknowledge this, instead reiterating that Felicia’s last name was too typical and that she had siblings; otherwise, he could understand if she wanted to keep her name. As it is, changing one’s name was “no big deal.”

Let me say right here that I can’t really object to anyone who wants to continue the tradition of the woman changing her name. I mean, I don’t like it, but whatever; it’s not my business. On the other hand, I am inclined to slap someone who rudely explains to strangers that his wife’s prior surname is “boring” and thus should just ditch it because it “is no big deal.” I clenched my fists under the starched white table cloth, put on my best fake smile, and cheerfully asked him why he didn’t change his name if it was so easy. I mean, seriously, if you’re not traditional or anything, you might as well... He laughed nervously. Another bumpy rash on a shaved twat, if there ever was one. Sigh. So it goes.

Juxtapositions

I am thankful for:

1. A strong flushing toilet.

2. Blogging and email.

3. My short physical stature.

4. I have heat on cold days.

5. Ideas come easily to me.

But:

1. Due to some building design flaw, our toilet sometimes erupts like Mt. Etna. If we didn’t keep the lid down, it would be more like Mt. Vesuvius covering Pompeii, albeit with (thankfully) clean water.

2. Addiction. Withdrawal when internet is not available. Shaking. It hurts when a fix is not available, or worse, I have not received any new email or comments.

3. Shortness is due to a lack of torso. Do your ribs end at your hips? I didn’t think so. There’s something to be said for proportionality.

4. There are two types of landlords in New York City. Slumlords are evil, cheap bastards who provide no heat at all. Other landlords fear elderly tenants constantly bitching and moaning about being cold, so they pump the heat up to about 4,000 degrees. The ensuing desert-like conditions make my sinuses angry. Air is hard to inhale through the dried blood and snot clots that fill my nose.

5. The best ideas pop into my head just as I am falling asleep, then I am up all night writing.