Happy Halloween

I've only gotten four trick or treaters tonight. One came when J was here alone (a toddler dressed as a pirate--SHUT UP that is so freaking cute). The last three came together and not a one of them was in a costume. Fuck that noise. I mean I still gave them candy but dude.

I'm not a big Halloween person. I like it in theory. I really like the IDEA of scary movies. I do. They seem like they would be fun, others like them. And who doesn't love being scared shitless?

Oh wait ME.

I can't do the horror movies. Repeat exposure seems to help. But you know, that means I have to get through it a time or three to be able to stand it. And some of them I just cannot do. They don't even have to be actually scary. Like Scream scares the absolute shit out of me. That whole scene with Drew Barrymore in the beginning has reduced me to tears more than once when it is playing on the Lifetime Movie Network. How scary can a movie on Lifetime be. Apparently enough for me.

So we didn't do costumes this year. But I really wanted to. And I think we will have to come up with something fun to do next year. And I love seeing all the little kids in their costumes. That is why I am so upset about the trick or treaters.

There better be a small child dressed as some sort of ape or cowboy or something showing up at my door or I will probably cry worse than I do during Scream.

Landslide

So. I have written here about my unspeakable love for Jamie Hyneman.

My pal Linda made fun of me just this week about this. Even though she has a thing for freaking Bobby Flay. Which to me is much more embarrassing and unexplainable. But don't take my word for it. Let's have a Jamie vs. Bobby fight to the finish.

Bobby Pros: Can cook anything, anywhere, anytime. I imagine Mr. Flay would be on permanent KP duty in any household. And given the size of his man-boobies he shouldn't talk too much shit about any cellulite you might have. He does have hair--even if it is a little poofy. Excellent people skills and sense of humor. He's pretty famous, enough that I am sure he gets free shit but not SO FAMOUS that there are many groupies. And if they are food groupies and probably chubby. Or bulemic. He knows about wine. Also, he seems like the type to wear a man-thong if that is your preference. Just saying.

Bobby Cons: Man-boobies. Poofy hair. Kind of arrogant. Huge ego. Would undoubtedly be snobby as shit about any crappy food that you might want to eat--no boxed macaroni and cheese, no pudding cups. A peanut butter sandwich cannot be a fucking peanut butter sandwich it must also have cayenne pepper, pecan butter and four berry jam.

Jamie Pros: Rakish ability to wear berets. Handy with tools. Almost alarming science ability. Ripped out body (did you see the episode that he wore a latex body suit in? DAYAM). Calm in pressure situations. Owns a drill press. Could adapt Coke machine to actually deliver sodas to my couch. Walrus mustache. Blows shit up for fun. Drop dead sexy.

Jamie Cons: Bald. Eerily calm. Nerdy possible to a fault. Has annoying sidekick. Science groupies probably wear seductive underwear. Doesn't wear latex suit every day. Walrus mustache.

WINNER: JAMIE

Landslide victory baby.

THANK FUCKING GOD

Back when I got my new job we sort of thought J was getting one too. One of his clients had been sniffing around him for months. Since then it has been drug through eight thousand different kinds of drama. We've been up and down a hundred times. I admit I've hit the panic button at least three times thinking we were headed to my mom and dad's basement. But today, today he got the offer. He took it.

I have a feeling there will be some drinking tonight.

Like Actual Whore's Wear Tights

My mother and I have many long standing arguments about fashion.

She likes ugly shit covered in glitter and I rip it screaming from her hands. She wears colors that she knows are unflattering just because they are "bright," I really think you should stick to shit that looks good with your skintone.

I have talked her out of tapered pants, pleats, bulky sweaters and her scarily blond hair color. But I have never been able to make her budge on pantyhose.

I don't wear pantyhose. My mother thinks this is a generational thing, which maybe but the older women at my office don't wear pantyhose either. I think that they make you hot and sweaty in the warm weather and do not keep you warm at all in the winter. You still have to shave because squished down leg hair is even uglier than just leg hair. You are fooling no one with the skin color changes either--that shit ain't found in nature. Overall pantyhose serve no purpose and are uncomfortable and ridiculous.

And my mother fucking loves them. She wears them all of the time. WITH PANTS EVEN. With open-toed shoes. There is no stopping the pantyhose train for her. And she is just bewildered that I don't love them as much as she does.

She was further horrified that the only pair of hosiery I currently own are fishnet tights. Which are completely work appropriate in my fashion-oriented environment. Even the grey-haired executives in my office don't blink an eye, even complimenting me on how "sassy" I look. Older men and women on the bus look at me like I am a whore.

But I have news for you pantyhose lovers out there. Fishnets are the most flattering hosiery out there. The pattern makes your legs look firmer and leaner (and distract from any jiggliness of which I have none of course). They are infinitely more comfortable. They take a normal outfit--black skirt, black sweater--and make it fashion forward.

Plus they don't make you look my mother.

And I swear, you won't look like a whore.

Dear People At Work, I Don't Think You Want Me With You Today

Yesterday I got these flashes of light in my vision that tragically were not caused by dancing too close to a disco ball and letting the vodka martinis go to my head. I had a horrible, face-draining, doozy of a migraine. The kind of migraine that makes everything go flashy and that makes you use words like doozy unironically. I toughed it out at work as long as possible and them limped onto a bus. I didn't puke on the bus (go me!). And I took the longest, hottest shower in the history of showers and ended the day lying on the couch moaning and whining (much to the delight of J, who earned a Husband Scout Marriage Badge of some sort last night because he made pancakes).

I woke up this morning feeling like I spent the night contorted in a vice so I guess work wasn't happening. The dogs are supervising my day of moaning and whining (they are asleep so I think I am not doing it loud enough) and hopefully I will be chipper again soon.

I have a hard time staying home from work. I feel vaguely guilty even if I am really sick. Like somehow I need to prove to my collegues that I am sick enough to be home. Even though I know I don't give a shit when they stay home so why would they care when I do? But still, I am trying to resist the urge to take digital pictures of myself being pitiful and emailing them along. I try to at least appear professional to those at work. They don't need to know what a sad sack of patheticness I really am. I'm not really sure how well I am pulling that off though.

But Don't Hold Your Breath

J and I went golfing again today--uh we went last Sunday WHAT IS HAPPENING TO ME WHY IS THE WORLD TURNING THE OTHER DIRECTION?!--and it was a gorgeous day. But why did no one tell me that golf courses in the greater Seattle area are not as warm as those in Florida? I was SHOCKED by the development since that meant I needed to wear a damn fleece and (sadly) I had my down jacket with me. It turned into a gorgeous day but the shady parts of the course were not so AB friendly. I take back all my whining in Florida. I will take 55 degrees over this 40 degree shit.

Also different? No palm trees or palmettos. WHO KNEW?

I feel like I am just now recovering from our trip. Work was just rough this week. SO much shit to do (and drama at home), still sort of jet lagged. So many hours. UGH. Plus, you know, had to stay up and watch Project Runway on Wednesday.

I gave Darla a hair cut and a bath yesterday (deserving a purple heart in the process let me say) because J had to take Buster to get his shots and ears checked. We are the kind of terrible dog owners that we allow our pugs ears to smell like a cesspool before we do anything about it. Understandably neither dog liked us much last night. Something about abandoning them for a week and then either trying to drown them of allow stranger to tackle and the jab needles into their skin.

We're sequestered in our cellar now. Eating cheetos, watching football (SHIT is Hasselback OUT?) and relaxing.

Maybe I'll stop being boring this week.

Confession

I must confess that I had mentally composed, but not actually written, a slightly smug but attempting to be uplifting post about how things are pretty damn good lately.

After a few years of just piles of shit falling on our heads good things had really started to happen in the AB household. My health is the best that it has been in a long time, we are getting ready to begin infertility treatments, my career is good, J's career is good, we have a gorgeous house, good friends, my parents are in good health. Everything is fucking fabulous.

I think I felt like we deserved the good stuff, after the bad. Even though our bad is nothing like the bad that people who have it really bad go through. It isn't losing your family in a tsunami bad, or being so poor you can't feed your children bad or even becoming a widow at an early age bad. And I don't believe that people earn happiness either. I don't think God, or whatever great force you might believe in, chooses sides that way. Rewarding one person seems like punishing those who are suffering. I don't really think that the world works that way.

But still, I felt so good and so confident that we had turned this corner.

I think everyone knows where this is headed. Nothing horrible has happened yet. I suppose that should be our family motto. Perhaps I will take up needlepoint and embroider that shit on a sampler. But things have slid downward a hair.

And I am devestated. Not because things are so bad but because I am losing the ability to ever feel good about my life. It feels impossible to feel hope or pleasure or comfort. I am heartbroken.

Maybe that is how it is supposed to be.

At Least I Am Not Posting Photos Of My Urine . . .YET

It's not that my sister's wedding wasn't grand and all it is just that it resembled nothing like a vacation. It was stressful and the hotel sucked and at times we were bored (it was vacation-like in that J whined about golf a lot and was drunk the whole time). We had the longest day in the history of the world yesterday--with delayed flights and a last second terminal change that had us running (ME RUNNING) to catch the plane and my mother got very stoned to convince herself that small planes don't bother her a bit.

We got home very late only to have to drive to Egypt to pick up the dogs who were PISSED that we left them with Travis for a week. And then we passed out. There is blood in my urine, I have a fever and feel like vomiting. Work was crazy. And I am just fucking tired.

I promise to be more interesting later. Of course I have been promising that for months so it just could be that this interesting is all relative.

Not Sure I Am The New Tiger

I went golfing this morning.

I didn't actually golf, GOD NO, but I got up for an early tee time this morning. I wore a jacket because the sun was not heating things up yet. I drove the cart and I hunted through the damn woods when J lost his ball at almost every hole.

Six months ago J started golfing. I was in denial at first. I thought he would get bored. Or lose interest. But he just got more and more sucked in. He goes to the driving range a couple of times a week. Tries to play a round a couple of times a month. He watches golf on TV. He reads books about it. I know where entirely too many golf superstores are located.

Clearly this is a more than a passing fancy.

Since we were trying to treat this trip as at least a partial vacation he golfed with my aunt on Friday and wanted to go again before we went home. So I came as the laziest caddy ever. And took a lot of pictures. And made fun of his posture.

I actually had a good time. Gorgeous course, beautiful day and just a nice relaxing time. He wants me to take lessons so that we can do this as a couple.

He has grand visions of golfing vacations and hours spent together on this new shared hobby. I guess I can try. Especially if he can manage to get tee times that don't make me drag my ass out of bed so early.

Low Standards

I am so pissed off at the fucking Comfort Inn.

We are not fancy hotel people. Mainly because we are cheap and can only afford cheap vacations. And I have long loved the Comfort Inn because they are a middle priced hotel (not CHEAP but not crazy expensive either) but clean and well . . comfortable.

My sister lives in a tiny town. A tiny town that has expensive ass hotels so the Comfort Inn here is nowhere near cheap. And is a fucking dump.

It is dirty. They didn't clean our room for fucking three days (and only cleaned it today because my mom pitched a fit). It is smoky. There is mold on the ceiling in the bathroom. An employee just walked right in when we were getting dressed for my sister's wedding (hope you enjoyed staring at my boobs dude). They were installing carpet at EIGHT AM above our room the first night.

And we are paying entirely too much for the priviledge.

When we get home I am going to be writing a lot of letters to their corporate offices and reviews on travel sites. If you are to charge this much you ought to not be completely fucking disgusting.

Happy Eight Hour Anniversary Kiddo

My sister got married today.

My mother was still baking wedding cakes this morning, J and I were doing hits off his flask throughout the day, my dad's zipper wouldn't close and I spent a surprising amount of my day taping my mother's breasts but she got married, she looked stunning and NO ONE GOT STABBED.

A very successful day.

There were moments of course. My feet swelled up like balloons because I was running around in hot as fuck weather in very high shoes. My mother and I were FERVENTLY admired by the men fixing the washing machine at the hotel but you know she had a serious rack going today and my ass looked fantastic. A person at the reception told J how they were praying for him because he was "lost" (do people not get how fucking offensive that is? It's not lost it is JEWISH). We almost lost her cat (my sister is reading this and having a stroke--he bolted but was corralled with no harm but dude we had eighty-four thousand things to carry in your house WE'RE SORRY WE KNOW YOU WARNED US). It took me twenty minutes to do my mother's makeup and about seventy of those were spent coloring in her eyebrows.

But it was a beautiful service. My sister has some lovely friends. I can see why she feels connected to this community.

And one would assume she is getting laid tonight and that can only be good right?

Conspiracy Of The Girly Bits

At EIGHT AM this morning (5 Pacific) there was loud banging and pounding on our ceiling.

OH HELL NO.

Fucking fly across the country, get in late, pay way too much for kind of a crappy room and then the front desk is RUDE when you complain about the POUNDING at 8am?

They were ripping up carpet. Above a paying customer's room. And I know 8 isn't early for business travelers but I seriously doubt that anyone here this week is a business traveler. SO SHUT THE FUCK UP.

And I got my mother fucking period. Early? After a hiatus of a few months last time? Is my uterus trying to make me nuts? Am I already there since I am referring to my uterus as a sentient being?

DAMN IT.

We're Here, I Need Some Booze

Things learned when traveling across the damn country.

1. If J takes a muscle relaxer because his back hurts he will be groggy, cranky and act kind of like a tool. This would be less annoying if I had seen him take the stupid pill and aren't all WTF?

2. My mother is afraid of tiny planes and filled a prescription for valium to help her get here. If a member of your traveling party needs medication to get on the plane then she will inevitable PACK SAID medication. Fortunately, she had convinced herself that we were flying in a paper airplane and was so relieved that it was a fifty seater that she practically skipped on the damn thing.

3. If you are going to rip your jeans on your trip, you will do it RIGHT AFTER your suitcase is carried outside and you can't change your clothes. They will also be your favorite jeans and the only ones that are the right length to wear with your flat shoes.

4. People are not lying when they mention that the Atlanta airport sucks. They also cannot get a flight off on time. We sat longer on the runway than the flight took.

5. If between five people there are nine pieces of luggage the airline will lose both of the bags of one person so they have no clothes or toiletries. Sadly, they will not lose J's golf clubs.

6. If J doesn't stop whining about his fucking golf I will shove a club up his ass. Actually, I didn't need to travel at all for that. I have felt that way for the past six weeks. I DON'T FUCKING CARE ABOUT YOUR GOLF.

BOO HISS

My god this weekend was just a whirlwind of trying to get over a cold and packing and cleaning and hiding from my semi-suicidal husband (three years in a row Yankee meltdown = awesome except I feel sorry for him). I am so tired from trying to get ready for this stupid trip (taking a vacation right after starting a new job is dumb, who knew?) not that going to my sister's wedding is stupid blah blah blah. I am tired yo.

And I have to get up at like 5 tomorrow.

I'm Human

The Yankees are getting their asses kicked. And I can't even enjoy it.

I don't like the Yankees. I respect them and I like their attitude. That expectation of winning. How their management is willing to DO ANYTHING to win. I wish the Cubs' management would be the same.

But I still want the Tiger's to win.

J loves the Yankees in a way that really does resemble mental illness. He throws tantrums and yells and screams and loses his shit during the losses. And like most Yankee fans he can't really enjoy the wins because they are supposed win. I think he mainly feels relief.

For all my talk about enjoying punching him in the balls I can't really stand for J to suffer so I can't enjoy their ass-kicking.

Unless it's Boston. I MEAN COME ON.

Not That I Am Willing To Pull Anymore Teeth

Our pal Travis got his wisdom teeth pulled today. Since my oral surgeon acted like I should notify Walter Cronkite for being 23 when I got mine pulled I can imagine his had a stroke since he is over thirty.

My husband is truly excellent at taking care of people following oral surgery though. He keeps you very drugged and eating pudding and sleeping. People talk about how much it sucked getting their's pulled and mine is sort of a funny memory. Lots of pudding and drooling and I think I called my surgeon "Dr. Lucky Charms." Since he was Scottish this was not nearly as funny as I thought it was. J also totally calls you on your bullshit when you try to get up and do things and rams the narcotics down your throat.

So poor Travis spent the day on our couch. I guess the extra twenty steps to the guest room was just TOO MUCH to bear. I brought him Jello and pudding cups and tried to talk him into staying the night. He was having none of it though we did manage to talk him out of going to school tomorrow and driving a goddamn car.

Man, I can't even get sympathy for my cold when he is so damn pitiful.

Not Just For Degrassi and 90210

I don't really use my TiFaux the right way. I mean I record shows and watch them commerical free. I have hours and hours of things I am embarassed about ready and waiting in my que.

But I abuse the priviledge because I also use my TiFaux for evil.

I pause during shows trying to freeze certain actresses in unflattering poses. This is particularly fun if you can make a very thin girl look fat.

I also use pause so I can throw things at the TV.

I save shows that have yummy men in them so I can watch them over and over (sad but true confession, there is a certain episode of Mythbusters that I kept for six months for that purpose).

I save shows that I will never actually watch because I feel like I should be watching them.

Worst of all, I still have a Sportscenter saved from when Harold Reynolds was on.

I really need to delete that.

A Lot Of Work To Do

The past couple of weeks have marked the holiest time in the Jewish calendar. The High Holidays are a time of celebration but also solemn contemplation. Sort of a yearly performance review. While God is passing judgment on us all our job is to make up for hurting each other. This is the sort of personal accountability that draws me to Judaism. It is not enough to be sorry you are a murderer, you need to get right with your victims' family.

I don't think I have hurt many people this year. Sometimes I say unkind things (sometimes I publish them on the internet) but I really do try to treat people in a respectful way. I am not much of a law breaker. But I do fail, at least for my own personal goals, that I don't always put my money where my mouth is. I believe in social change, in trying to set people up to make a success of themselves. My husband is a great example of what a person can do if they work hard enough and if people believe in them. But I don't spend the time or money to help create that change.

Which is how, last night, a young man came to my door. Selling magazines for a program that teaches at risk young people about professionalism and salesmanship (and gives them things like help getting their GED, childcare, grooming, clothing, etc). I couldn't turn him away, even though I didn't need any magazines, even though at the time I wasn't sure he was even legitimate (he was, I checked out the group last night). I talked to him for more than an hour, about what he wants to do with his life, what he wants for his daughter. I hated myself because I couldn't invite him in (honestly, I probably shouldn't have opened the door--in my neighborhood you don't answer the door late at night) and I felt racist because the young man was black. Maybe it was racist. Though to be honest, in a more racist way, I think I would have felt more threatened by a young white man. Every young black man in America is an at-risk youth. If his parents are millionaires he is an at-risk youth. Society has set him up to fail. But white men (as a rule, obviously there are exceptions, one of them is in my basement) are set up in every way to succeed. So to qualify for this program they might be a scary mother-fucker.

I bought a magazine subscription (I wanted to buy more but SHIT those are expensive) for more money than I really have for that sort of thing. This was better than giving to charity because this young man really wanted to do this, he was sincere in believing that this was his big opportunity. I do not know what his life has been like, if he is an ex-criminal or did drugs or maybe he just didn't finish school because he had a little baby at home. Maybe he was making the whole thing up (which would be sort of an impressive display of what an excellent car salesman he will be someday). But I bought it. I was really buying this feeling of doing something.

But maybe I don't treasure that feeling the way that I thought I did. Because I am sitting here thinking about how maybe I should cancel that subscription.

That Bitch Joan Rivers Better Not Say It

I would like to ban a phrase. Bling bling shall no longer be used by anyone, anytime, ever again. Not even ironically. It is bad enough that I once heard Barbara Walters use it on the View. It is deplorable that the term is used on the Oscar Red Carpet. But y'all, I had to explain BLING to my mother this weekend.

We are sitting at lunch, talking about shoes and my sister's wedding and should we get pedicures next weekend (answer: YES because damn my heels are crusty) when my mother leans over and asks quietly and sagely, "Do you know what bling is?"

I try to explain about rappers and the socio-economic source of the term and end up blurting out something about tacky-ass jewelry. And I am just dreading what she is going to tell me about why she wants to know.

My mother teaches high school. This is their Homecoming week and apparently schools still do those dressup days the week before. And they are having a "Bling-Bling" day.

Y'all, my mother thought it was one of the Sanrio characters like fucking Hello Kitty. She was so confused, she couldn't figure out what on earth she was supposed to do for that day? Dress up like a cat? Buy a t-shirt?

We bought her a HUGE cocktail ring. I bet that she will cut the hell out of her face with it.

But if a fifty-nine year old white woman starts using the term it is officially it needs to die a quick and ruthless death.

So speaketh AB.

Free Is For AB

Last night we had the chance to go to a Thunderbirds' game for free. We generally prefer our hometown Everett Silvertips in WHL hockey but free tickets are free tickets. Especially since this was a chance to use a luxury suite in the Key Arena.

I love WHL hockey. It is essentially glorified high school hockey. The passing and stick handling are sloppy. But the kids skate fast, they hit hard and there is a lot of fighting.

For the first time I felt a twinge of sympathy for the Sonics and their whining about the luxury suites at the key. I mean they are not really so luxurious. This is the Sonics' fault, of course, since they designed the damn things, but yeah.

It was fun up there though. You can see everything and we had the TV set to first the WSU game and then the dog show. It made watching the game really social. You watch the game sure, but also talk to your friends. Kind of a party atmosphere.

Best part by far? PRIVATE BATHROOM. Oh! And private entrance! No line! Next to the parking garage!

The only shitty part of the whole evening was this family that was sharing the suite with us. Now I am definitely not a kid hater and I actually think minor league hockey is an excellent place to take a child. But you know, letting a toddler run around, scream, push on the other people in the suite, throw cups over the ledge onto the people seated below and just generally act wild without even attempting to control him was just not cool. I wouldn't have cared at all if they were paying any attention to him, but they just ignored him. Even creepier was this whole moment when the mom got frustrated with him crawling all over the seat and shoved him hard and he fell upside down (he was not hurt). He cried and she laughed at him. Was strange. The little boy was actually a very sweet little boy his parents were just wackos.

But still. Free suite!