I just found out that the Miss America pageant was over a month ago. This is a huge shock to me and I am not handling it well. I haven't actually watched the broadcast in years, but there was a time when it was more likely that I'd turn into a merman than let this completely slide off my radar. Ever since I can remember I was obsessed with Miss America - for one thing we had one LIVING ON OUR ACTUAL BLOCK (Barbara Walker Hummel! Lovely woman but her Afghan Hound, Guido, was a canine Rudy Eugene; he ate his way through the neighborhood's cats like he was me with a sleeve of Thin Mints), and my mother was FRIENDS WITH ANOTHER ONE! (Linda Mead Shea! Also lovely; no dog problems of which I'm aware. Like me with a sleeve of cauliflower.) We were positively filthy with Miss Americas. It wasn't that I aspired to be Miss America or even really cared about the pageant process; in retrospect I think that it was more that this was, really, our first reality show, and on top of it I knew people who'd participated! It just appealed so much to the nosiest side of me. Which is all sides of me including mining and airspace rights because I'm the nosiest person you'll ever meet. So you give me fifty different women (along with delegates from the District of Columbia and our exotic friend to the south, Puerto Rico, which I was certain was somewhere around Antarctica) confiding their truest ambitions, their deepest desires, and swirling around in shiny dresses even prettier than that blue thing Barbara Mandrell wore last Sunday on "Hee Haw" and you expect me not to be taken in? Throw in the suspense of just who was going to be wearing the famously charmed Duckett "supersuit" for the swimwear competition, and I can't eat one more bite of my Raviolios, I'm so excited.
I would sit smack in front of the television with my face maybe a foot from the screen and soak in every single detail. As I got older I would even score the contestants myself (with a heavy bias towards Miss Tennessee, naturally). The best part of the whole thing was, of course, when the new Miss America was crowned; I don't know who would boo-hoo more, the winner or me. This was my cathartic cry vehicle years before "Extreme Makeover: Home Edition" came along, or before I really had anything to cry about, for that matter. This continued throughout college and well beyond, and was enhanced by the fact that my best friend/roommate was as obsessed as I was (note: to protect her reputation I will henceforth refer to her as "John Stamos". He was easily the most fun roommate on "Full House" so that's what I'm going with). To John Stamos and me, "Miss America" night meant a case of beer, two packs of Marlboro Lights and a solid 3 hours on the couch. Because John Stamos and I together created the most delusional and mutually reinforcing echo chamber of all time (her words...John Stamos is kind of a genius), it wouldn't take more than 10 minutes before we'd start in on how we could TOTALLY be up there on stage and could TOTALLY win, but we were just SO much better than that and should we crank call my parents during the commercial and just burp really loud over and over? I remember one year specifically that I had to watch mostly out of one eye because a giant zit on the side of my nose was pushing my glasses up and hampering my vision. So, yes, clearly, Miss America material. Just didn't want to do it. Sure, John Stamos and I would dabble in some of the lesser pageants - "Miss Universe" was okay if there wasn't anything else going on, and we were always up for a good mother/daughter competition. Even "Mrs. America" worked in a pinch. "Miss USA" was alright too, but that one always felt like the morally flexible, kind of dumb little sister who'd probably debased herself behind the 7-11, and that was even before Donald Trump got involved with the whole thing. Plus, none of those had what really legitimized "Miss America" for us - the talent competition. The talent competition was also why I, no matter how formidable the zit, would beat out John Stamos ten times out of ten in our personal theoretical pageant.
Let me rewind. When my sister and I were growing up, my parents had a rule that we could pretty much do any sort of extracurricular activity we wanted (don't get dirty, you know what I mean) as long as we took music lessons until we graduated from high school. We both chose piano, and while my sister was a natural, I hated it. I never learned to read music well and just became surly about the entire enterprise. By the time I'm a rising senior I have had it with the piano, but I'm still obligated to take some sort of music lesson for one more year. What to do? Well, I hate practicing, so what's a musical instrument that is so cost-prohibitive that my mean parents wouldn't buy it even though it would make me miserable? Cello's no good, you can rent those. Same with drums. Not so, my friends, with the harp. And this is how I bested John Stamos in "Miss America" year after year. It brings to mind the reclusive comic book aficionado who's kind of a sad loser, but then Comic Con comes to town and no one's making fun of that custom-made replica Batman costume now, are they? 364 days of the year I lived in shame and silence about my musical pursuits during senior year, but it's "MA" night? Back your shit up, fool John Stamos, I'm a HARPIST. Don't get me wrong, John Stamos could - and still can - belt out a mean "Wind Beneath My Wings" (and I've already referenced her burping prowess...it's legitimate), but unless she learned to master the marimba she never stood a chance. I don't mind admitting those were some heady years.
Looking back I can't really come up with one specific year that I consciously decided to stop watching. I guess it just sort of fell by the wayside when John Stamos got married and I wasn't allowed to live with her any longer. It also didn't help when the pageant fled the major networks for CMT, so I never saw any commercials that would get me fired up about watching it. Plus, let's be honest, at this point it's a little Miss Havisham of me to sit in front of the tv and weep over a woman who, given the right combination of opportunity and bad judgement in high school, could mathematically and harpically be my daughter. Still, it stings a little. I'd normally go grab a sleeve of Thin Mints to dull the pain, but this has gotten me thinking about one of those mother/daughter pageants...John Stamos has a daughter, too. Stay tuned, check your local listings, and get ready to see John Stamos get crushed.
Thursday, February 28, 2013
Monday, February 25, 2013
Some Awards Of My Own
So, the Oscars. As usual, I didn't make it too far in the broadcast (this year it was less because of the wine and more due to the fact that the RM had woken up three times the night before yelling at the top of her lungs that Swiper the fox was in her room. She's such a liar because he so wasn't!) but I did catch some of the red carpet action and a few of the awards. Also I saw a little additional coverage this morning and am not afraid to let a few snippets and soundbites lead me to form totally uneducated opinions about all of it because I'm an American and that's what we do. I won't rehash too much of it but I really must get a few things off my chest. And as for chests, I saw your boobs (oh! An actual segment reference! That's some inside baseball, people!).
Shall we start with the red carpet? First of all, that whole Kristin Chenoweth "I'm so short!" shtick got old quickly. We get that you're a little bitty sawed-off thing, find a new angle to work. Also she didn't seem to always know her subjects...I'm not sure you want to ask Bradley Cooper's mom "now, who are you wearing?" (She answered with a "well, I don't know...something from my closet..." but with that feather thing she accessorized with I wouldn't have been surprised if she'd said "Loehman's and Big Bird.") And Kristin Stewart, I get that you're injured and I'm sorry about that, but if you don't wipe that pouty face off your head I'll give you something to really whine about. Come live with me for a week or two and see if you don't have sunshine coming out of your ass, you're so happy to leave. I know that it was probably very traumatic for you to co-star with Jared Leto's honky cornrows in "Panic Room", but we simply must soldier on.
Were you as uncomfortable as I was when George Clooney started going on and on about me? That man is a broken record. I need to speak to him.
I thought it was remarkably brave of Renee Zellweger to show up, considering how upset she must be that someone broke into her home and freeze-dried her face. That's one tough lady. Speaking of tough, Anne Hathaway you could stand to gain a few lbs because you are not looking very chewy. Or very colorful - what was with the muted palettes these ladies chose? I would like to recommend a little more vividness next year. I can let you borrow my Esprit paint-splattered pants from 8th grade; they are indeed quite colorful, and will probably fit any of you. Promise to mention me on the red carpet and I'll let you borrow the matching jacket, too, you lucky thing.
Babs Striesand. I couldn't decide if her outfit reminded me more of a Wild West madam or Madame, that raunchy puppet from "Solid Gold" back in the day. She's getting bad advice; I suspect she might have been dressed by the guy who told Wesley Snipes he didn't need to worry about his taxes.
That's kind of all I've got. However, since I missed most of the good stuff, I decided to supplement the broadcast with some awards of my own. Since I can't exactly relate to the Oscar experience I've created some that are a little closer to home. Also since I get to be in charge, my ceremony is being held at Six Flags and is hosted by triple-threat Shaun Cassidy and Associate Justice Sonia Sotomayor (thank you Krystal and Absolut Mandarin for catering). Please, hold your applause until the end.
Best Display of an Overactive Gag Reflex
This has been a year of really standout performances by the RM, but we're going to have to go with last night's broccoli incident. I made her eat one piece with dinner and she got so wholly overwrought about it that the moment it touched her tongue she vomited all over the table. This comes after a year of some truly fine displays of gagging over various and sundry vegetables but she really dug deep for this one; one can only speculate that she's been building up to it all season.
The "A Christmas Story"/"Not A Finger" Award for Most Creative Use of Faux Profanity
The award goes to me, for the moment immediately after the RM vomited all over the table. I'd like to specifically thank "golblammit" and Clorox wipes for their roles in the production.
DFCS Moment of the Year
Such a competitive category! Not to be immodest, but it's been a year positively rich in questionable parenting. Until just last week it looked like it was a shoo-in for the time AD was riding her bike outside at my parents' house and got her shoelace stuck in the bike gear and just busted ass. I was so checked out that I wasn't even aware anything had happened until a neighbor called my mom and asked her if she was aware that there was a bloody child tied to a bicycle in her yard. However, the toilet fiasco at Houston's last week rode a late groundswell of support and walked away with it. To summarize: the RM decided to give civilization a shot and use the restroom, and AD very sweetly offered to take her. Their mother very stupidly okayed this enterprise. After about ten minutes my curiosity got the better of me and I went to check on them only to find the RM wedged firmly in the toilet, her little butt in the water and legs turning blue, and both girls in tears. That's just terrible and I'll go quietly once the authorities arrive.
The "Cue the 'Platoon' Soundtrack Because This Was My Vietnam" Moment
In another category dominated by some truly awful toilet incidents, this award goes to when the RM was in the throes of a vicious tummy bug. I was emptying her training potty into the larger potty and dropped it, splashing unspeakable nastiness all over myself and into my open mouth. It is a testament to my fortitude that I didn't go immediately insane. The legacy of this award is that I now reflexively scream with my mouth completely closed. I'm told the Senate Armed Services Committee is discussing a medal.
Most Likely To Get Fussed At in the Next 30 Minutes
JHP takes it to the house! A combination of leaving dirty dishes in the basement, somehow disabling the heat and not letting me know he arrived safely in Seattle when his flight arrived two hours ago gave him a real edge in this category. Jackass.
The "Bad Idea Jeans" Award
I voted with my heart and decided on The Time I Taught The RM How To Use Scissors. Just a stunningly ill-conceived move. Many insiders speculated that Allowing AD To Grow Her Hair Out For Locks Of Love would take it, given that her head now resembles a rain forest canopy, but the damage the RM can now do really appeals to a global audience.
And that brings our evening to a close! Thanks for watching, and stay tuned for your local news.
Shall we start with the red carpet? First of all, that whole Kristin Chenoweth "I'm so short!" shtick got old quickly. We get that you're a little bitty sawed-off thing, find a new angle to work. Also she didn't seem to always know her subjects...I'm not sure you want to ask Bradley Cooper's mom "now, who are you wearing?" (She answered with a "well, I don't know...something from my closet..." but with that feather thing she accessorized with I wouldn't have been surprised if she'd said "Loehman's and Big Bird.") And Kristin Stewart, I get that you're injured and I'm sorry about that, but if you don't wipe that pouty face off your head I'll give you something to really whine about. Come live with me for a week or two and see if you don't have sunshine coming out of your ass, you're so happy to leave. I know that it was probably very traumatic for you to co-star with Jared Leto's honky cornrows in "Panic Room", but we simply must soldier on.
Were you as uncomfortable as I was when George Clooney started going on and on about me? That man is a broken record. I need to speak to him.
I thought it was remarkably brave of Renee Zellweger to show up, considering how upset she must be that someone broke into her home and freeze-dried her face. That's one tough lady. Speaking of tough, Anne Hathaway you could stand to gain a few lbs because you are not looking very chewy. Or very colorful - what was with the muted palettes these ladies chose? I would like to recommend a little more vividness next year. I can let you borrow my Esprit paint-splattered pants from 8th grade; they are indeed quite colorful, and will probably fit any of you. Promise to mention me on the red carpet and I'll let you borrow the matching jacket, too, you lucky thing.
Babs Striesand. I couldn't decide if her outfit reminded me more of a Wild West madam or Madame, that raunchy puppet from "Solid Gold" back in the day. She's getting bad advice; I suspect she might have been dressed by the guy who told Wesley Snipes he didn't need to worry about his taxes.
That's kind of all I've got. However, since I missed most of the good stuff, I decided to supplement the broadcast with some awards of my own. Since I can't exactly relate to the Oscar experience I've created some that are a little closer to home. Also since I get to be in charge, my ceremony is being held at Six Flags and is hosted by triple-threat Shaun Cassidy and Associate Justice Sonia Sotomayor (thank you Krystal and Absolut Mandarin for catering). Please, hold your applause until the end.
Best Display of an Overactive Gag Reflex
This has been a year of really standout performances by the RM, but we're going to have to go with last night's broccoli incident. I made her eat one piece with dinner and she got so wholly overwrought about it that the moment it touched her tongue she vomited all over the table. This comes after a year of some truly fine displays of gagging over various and sundry vegetables but she really dug deep for this one; one can only speculate that she's been building up to it all season.
The "A Christmas Story"/"Not A Finger" Award for Most Creative Use of Faux Profanity
The award goes to me, for the moment immediately after the RM vomited all over the table. I'd like to specifically thank "golblammit" and Clorox wipes for their roles in the production.
DFCS Moment of the Year
Such a competitive category! Not to be immodest, but it's been a year positively rich in questionable parenting. Until just last week it looked like it was a shoo-in for the time AD was riding her bike outside at my parents' house and got her shoelace stuck in the bike gear and just busted ass. I was so checked out that I wasn't even aware anything had happened until a neighbor called my mom and asked her if she was aware that there was a bloody child tied to a bicycle in her yard. However, the toilet fiasco at Houston's last week rode a late groundswell of support and walked away with it. To summarize: the RM decided to give civilization a shot and use the restroom, and AD very sweetly offered to take her. Their mother very stupidly okayed this enterprise. After about ten minutes my curiosity got the better of me and I went to check on them only to find the RM wedged firmly in the toilet, her little butt in the water and legs turning blue, and both girls in tears. That's just terrible and I'll go quietly once the authorities arrive.
The "Cue the 'Platoon' Soundtrack Because This Was My Vietnam" Moment
In another category dominated by some truly awful toilet incidents, this award goes to when the RM was in the throes of a vicious tummy bug. I was emptying her training potty into the larger potty and dropped it, splashing unspeakable nastiness all over myself and into my open mouth. It is a testament to my fortitude that I didn't go immediately insane. The legacy of this award is that I now reflexively scream with my mouth completely closed. I'm told the Senate Armed Services Committee is discussing a medal.
Most Likely To Get Fussed At in the Next 30 Minutes
JHP takes it to the house! A combination of leaving dirty dishes in the basement, somehow disabling the heat and not letting me know he arrived safely in Seattle when his flight arrived two hours ago gave him a real edge in this category. Jackass.
The "Bad Idea Jeans" Award
I voted with my heart and decided on The Time I Taught The RM How To Use Scissors. Just a stunningly ill-conceived move. Many insiders speculated that Allowing AD To Grow Her Hair Out For Locks Of Love would take it, given that her head now resembles a rain forest canopy, but the damage the RM can now do really appeals to a global audience.
And that brings our evening to a close! Thanks for watching, and stay tuned for your local news.
Saturday, February 23, 2013
Like a Phoenix from Arizona
Today was the final game of AD's basketball season. Given that everyone on her team - the Phoenix (a name that the girls came up with and voted on together, marking the first time in recorded history that a group of 8-year-olds participated in the democratic process without tears and/or revocation of birthday party invitations) is a full year younger than almost everyone else in their league, they did pretty well. This was the first year most of the girls had ever played at all, so it was a bit of a slow start but they got the hang of it and improved pretty quickly. Overall it's been a hilarious watching AD play, if that's what you could call what she does. She seems to have learned two things this season: 1. the basketball is made of actual snakes and herpes and should be disposed of immediately, to anyone at all, and 2. when she does screw up her courage enough to dribble it somehow activates a magnetic connection between the ball and her toe because she will almost always immediately bounce it off her foot. Play has often been a secondary concern at best; I think she spent more time dealing with a recently loosened tooth than she did on what was happening on the court. Last week in particular she obsessively wiggled it throughout the whole game. The only reason I didn't run out there and yank that thing out of her head myself was because the RM kept wedging herself under the bleachers which was awesome. It's a great group of girls (and parents) and she really did have so much fun, which is as we're always told "the most important thing". For AD it appears that the having fun component may always be the most important thing; I have a sneaking suspicion that athletics just may not be her strong suit. I am totally down with this because as far as I'm concerned the less cool she is, the better. Let me preface this by saying that the only thing I know about the business of being cool is either from reading or observation of others, but it has always seemed to me that excelling in a sport can help put you on the road to popularity. This is something I am totally unequipped for.
A little background is in order: I have always been a hardcore, enormous nerd. It irritates the hell out of me when some beautiful celebrity will go on Letterman or whatever and confess that they were "such a dork! I mean, I was soooo skinny and gawky!" Nice try, Ms. Diaz, but you're bringing a knife to a gun fight. I wore knickers to school. With a vest I made myself out of purple felt. I had a Dorothy Hamill haircut ten years too late, and to add insult to injury I permed that shit. In middle school I started a neighborhood newspaper which I would hand-deliver on my tennis shoe roller skates. During soccer games I would tuck a book into the back of my shorts so I could read when the ball was down field (that one particularly kills my parents and sister, to this day). I had a pet tarantula named Alfred. I was the one hiding behind those Foster Grants. "The Lawrence Welk Show" was appointment television. I actually was NOT, surprisingly, the recipient of a petition a group of MUS boys signed pledging to never ask one particular girl out on a date (no formal notification was needed in my case; the consensus was evidently so unanimous that ratification was unnecessary) but I did correct their spelling once I saw it. I once concussed myself by pogo-sticking into a country ham we had hanging in our basement. That might be more redneck than dork, but you get the idea. I've got bona fides. So when I see AD poke herself in the eye with her tennis racket, or try and make a basket on her own team's goal or do anything that's just awkward in general, there is a primal part of me that says aaah, yes, that is my child.
To be clear, it's not like I've peed in the pristine gene pool that JHP brings to the mix. Make no mistake, he has his own strong background in nerdery and I've got the DVD of his moving interpretation of "The Mikado" to prove it. So really, AD doesn't stand much of a chance. It's because of this that we've been more than happy to steer her towards the less glamorous pursuits, like science camp. Fields that she's probably genetically more inclined to enjoy. We're running a long con, too, because once those horrible teenage years rear their slutty head, who's more likely to be snorting coke off the quarterback's penis, the bendy head cheerleader or the kid from Robotics class with the encyclopedic knowledge of Harry Potter who has to be home by 8:30 to take care of her terrarium? I don't know for sure since I was never actually invited to those kinds of parties, but I'm banking on the cheerleader. Don't think that's going to be AD. And just so you know, I say that with clear eyes and no judgement; we're not yet emotionally able to speculate where the RM going to fall on the spectrum, but I will say that leading indicators point to high-fives all around if she's not incarcerated or pregnant by the 9th grade.
So, basketball. It really was a great season with a great group of people, no injuries and only one referee who may or may not have been on the take and you know who I'm talking about. I'm happy to say that at the end of the day, the mighty Phoenix rose from the ashes to finish in fourth place in the league. And that AD is co-captain of the 2nd grade math team.
A little background is in order: I have always been a hardcore, enormous nerd. It irritates the hell out of me when some beautiful celebrity will go on Letterman or whatever and confess that they were "such a dork! I mean, I was soooo skinny and gawky!" Nice try, Ms. Diaz, but you're bringing a knife to a gun fight. I wore knickers to school. With a vest I made myself out of purple felt. I had a Dorothy Hamill haircut ten years too late, and to add insult to injury I permed that shit. In middle school I started a neighborhood newspaper which I would hand-deliver on my tennis shoe roller skates. During soccer games I would tuck a book into the back of my shorts so I could read when the ball was down field (that one particularly kills my parents and sister, to this day). I had a pet tarantula named Alfred. I was the one hiding behind those Foster Grants. "The Lawrence Welk Show" was appointment television. I actually was NOT, surprisingly, the recipient of a petition a group of MUS boys signed pledging to never ask one particular girl out on a date (no formal notification was needed in my case; the consensus was evidently so unanimous that ratification was unnecessary) but I did correct their spelling once I saw it. I once concussed myself by pogo-sticking into a country ham we had hanging in our basement. That might be more redneck than dork, but you get the idea. I've got bona fides. So when I see AD poke herself in the eye with her tennis racket, or try and make a basket on her own team's goal or do anything that's just awkward in general, there is a primal part of me that says aaah, yes, that is my child.
To be clear, it's not like I've peed in the pristine gene pool that JHP brings to the mix. Make no mistake, he has his own strong background in nerdery and I've got the DVD of his moving interpretation of "The Mikado" to prove it. So really, AD doesn't stand much of a chance. It's because of this that we've been more than happy to steer her towards the less glamorous pursuits, like science camp. Fields that she's probably genetically more inclined to enjoy. We're running a long con, too, because once those horrible teenage years rear their slutty head, who's more likely to be snorting coke off the quarterback's penis, the bendy head cheerleader or the kid from Robotics class with the encyclopedic knowledge of Harry Potter who has to be home by 8:30 to take care of her terrarium? I don't know for sure since I was never actually invited to those kinds of parties, but I'm banking on the cheerleader. Don't think that's going to be AD. And just so you know, I say that with clear eyes and no judgement; we're not yet emotionally able to speculate where the RM going to fall on the spectrum, but I will say that leading indicators point to high-fives all around if she's not incarcerated or pregnant by the 9th grade.
So, basketball. It really was a great season with a great group of people, no injuries and only one referee who may or may not have been on the take and you know who I'm talking about. I'm happy to say that at the end of the day, the mighty Phoenix rose from the ashes to finish in fourth place in the league. And that AD is co-captain of the 2nd grade math team.
Thursday, February 21, 2013
Three Years of Menace
The Red Menace is turning three next week. Stunning. In some ways it feels like dog years - that she should be turning 21 and getting ready to graduate from some sort of shady Eastern Bloc university that specializes in yellowcake and villainy, or maybe living in a halfway house in an effort to reduce the likelihood of recidivism. In other ways, as these things inevitably go with children, it seems like only yesterday that I was lying about not being in labor so JHP would take me to breakfast at Goldberg's before we went to the hospital for my scheduled doctors appointment (in my defense, Goldberg's home fries with cheese, hold the peppers, are totally worth it. Though mark my words that I will one day meet my maker in that parking lot...that place is a minefield of ninety-year-old drivers). As much as I have enjoyed so much of these first years of her life I'm not sad to be moving on. I feel a bit guilty about that since I know I "should" be mourning the transition from toddlerhood - I certainly did with AD, I wanted to bonsai her and keep her right in that moment - but at the same time I'm really looking forward to living with someone who possesses reason and would possibly even use good-ish judgement. As things stand now, we're dealing with someone who's kind of like the Swiss - you think she's all rosy-cheeked and harmless, but give it some time and you'll discover the institutional duplicity and financial irregularities. I'm not saying she's harboring looted Nazi gold but trying to force my wallet through the u-bend in the toilet is still not cool, kid. Not cool at all.
While we're on the subject of the toilet I would like to request that we establish some sort of signing day for potty training. Enough with the hemming and hawing already, let's commit. When AD decided she was done with the Pull-ups, that was it, case closed; with the RM we're talking a liturgical year. And it's not like she doesn't know what she's doing. She knows, and she holds her power over me like the Sword of Damocles. The latest: she got through her whole school day today perfectly - not a single accident. The whole way home I'm telling her how proud I am of her, what a big girl she is, etc., then as I am in the process of unlocking the front door she looks up at me and says, apropos of nothing, "ELISE YOU JUST MAKE ME SO MAD. I AM TEE-TEEING." and proceeds to enthusiastically wet her pants. Excellent. My takeaway from this experience is twofold: remain ever vigilant in all things RM, and if she's going to end up being some sort of yellow discipline dominatrix we are so not wasting money on private school.
All complaints aside, I've also been thinking a lot this week about how remarkable it is that we even have her. It was a piece of cake getting pregnant with AD, that kid was a $12 bottle of wine (or two), but we apparently had to really want it when it came to the RM. She finally surfaced after years of infertility treatments that were not really all that fun. For me, anyway. JHP just had to grab a bunch of dirty magazines and aim for the cup; take away the cup and that's just recreation. After all was said and done and I was finally pregnant for keeps, we figured out that the RM was our 31st embryo; this amazes me. Without all the frustrating disappointments and sadness we would never have gotten to her in the queue. Sure, we might have a different kid, maybe even one that doesn't lick hubcaps or eat smashed grapes off of the floor at Publix, but God forbid we might have also had a boring one. This is what I try to comfort myself with when I'm fishing an earring out of her nostril, or cleaning buttprints off the sunroom windows. Sometimes it works.
While we're on the subject of the toilet I would like to request that we establish some sort of signing day for potty training. Enough with the hemming and hawing already, let's commit. When AD decided she was done with the Pull-ups, that was it, case closed; with the RM we're talking a liturgical year. And it's not like she doesn't know what she's doing. She knows, and she holds her power over me like the Sword of Damocles. The latest: she got through her whole school day today perfectly - not a single accident. The whole way home I'm telling her how proud I am of her, what a big girl she is, etc., then as I am in the process of unlocking the front door she looks up at me and says, apropos of nothing, "ELISE YOU JUST MAKE ME SO MAD. I AM TEE-TEEING." and proceeds to enthusiastically wet her pants. Excellent. My takeaway from this experience is twofold: remain ever vigilant in all things RM, and if she's going to end up being some sort of yellow discipline dominatrix we are so not wasting money on private school.
All complaints aside, I've also been thinking a lot this week about how remarkable it is that we even have her. It was a piece of cake getting pregnant with AD, that kid was a $12 bottle of wine (or two), but we apparently had to really want it when it came to the RM. She finally surfaced after years of infertility treatments that were not really all that fun. For me, anyway. JHP just had to grab a bunch of dirty magazines and aim for the cup; take away the cup and that's just recreation. After all was said and done and I was finally pregnant for keeps, we figured out that the RM was our 31st embryo; this amazes me. Without all the frustrating disappointments and sadness we would never have gotten to her in the queue. Sure, we might have a different kid, maybe even one that doesn't lick hubcaps or eat smashed grapes off of the floor at Publix, but God forbid we might have also had a boring one. This is what I try to comfort myself with when I'm fishing an earring out of her nostril, or cleaning buttprints off the sunroom windows. Sometimes it works.
Tuesday, February 19, 2013
Oscar Time
The Oscars are this Sunday, and I've barely seen a single thing that was nominated. My yawning lack of knowledge of any of the performances will not, however, deter me in any way from filling out my ballot predictions in my yearly Oscar pool with JHP. Can you call it a pool if only two people participate? A baby pool? Anyway, we take it pretty seriously although for the life of me we can never remember which of us won, and I'm not sure that we've ever actually paid up or followed through on our bets in any way. This is probably because we historically drink lots of wine throughout the ceremony and usually go to sleep before the show is over, but not before we discuss yet again about how Angelina Jolie needs to eat a cheeseburger and that all the actors are actually super-short in real life except for Warren Beatty and Tim Robbins. We're definitely the first people ever to point that out, and it definitely bears rehashing.
In years like this (ie, when we haven't felt that it was worth spending a small fortune for a babysitter and actually going to a movie theater to act like cranky old people if someone else so much as sneezes) I approach the Oscar predictions much as I do the March Madness brackets; with bullshittery. Basketball is another area that I'm not exactly schooled in these days, so I tend to pick the team with the more attractive uniforms. If that doesn't do it for me - say, I'm picking between the equally atrociously clad Dayton and Wyoming - then I go with the location I'd most like to visit. Dayton, you're out; congratulations Cowboys! I hear Laramie's got great skiing this time of year! (Caveat: if Davidson makes it in, I'm picking them to go all the way even if they played the University of Hugh Jackman's Bedroom and shut your stupid face because I just am.) So, employing my highly scientific methods, here are a few of my choices:
Best Actor in a Leading Role
Bradley Cooper. He actually really repulsed me in the movie trailer for "Silver Linings Playbook" which means he must be giving the performance of his life because damn if I don't usually want him getting all up on this. Also I'm thinking that everyone must be sick and tired of that deep method shit that Daniel Day Lewis does. He's managed to really make a name for himself as a weird dude in an industry full of them. I mean, he completely unironically became a cobbler. So, no. Bradley, thank the Academy.
Best Actress in a Leading Role
I'm giving it to Jennifer Lawrence because I've always wanted a crossbow and she's all about archery in "The Hunger Games" which is close enough for me. (One year for Christmas I was certain, based on the size of one of my presents, that I was actually getting a crossbow, but it turned out it was only a guitar. That was fun for a few late night ass-wiggling George Michael "Faith" impersonations in college, but it was no crossbow. Damn my parents and their refusal to arm a teenager.) I don't want it to go to that Jessica Chastain because I'm still sick of hearing about aaaaaaallll that weeeeeiiight she had to gain for her role as a vastly-smaller-than-average-size-especially-if-you-live-in-Mississippi character in "The Help" last year. If she says one more word about it I'm going to throw my fried pickles (and that's not a euphimism) at her bony ass. Congratulations, Jennifer. Don't wear a confusing dress this time.
Best Actor in a Supporting Role
Alan Arkin because the 1979 version of "The In-Laws" is comedic gold and also features national treasure/stone cold fox Michael Lembeck, aka Kaptain Kool from the Krofft Comedy Hour. Plus it's just time for Dr. Sheldon Kornpett to get his due. That being said I won't punch you in the face if Philip Seymour Hoffman wins because I love him, although if he does then everyone who paid to sit through "Twister" should immediately file a class-action lawsuit.
Best Actress in a Supporting Role
Helen Hunt. That woman is an amazing actress, and as far as I'm concerned she could have begun and ended her career with her role as the girl in that one After School Special who snorted a bunch of Angel Dust and jumped out of a window and she'd still deserve this. That still scares the hell out of me. Anne Hathaway will not win because her performance does not count as such; anyone would cry like that if they had their hair harvested on camera. I could do that, and I can't act my way out of a paper bag. Yay you, Helen.
Best Animated Feature Film
Anything but "Brave". I saw this in a hotel room in Chattanooga and it just made me mad. I appreciate the concept and love the idea of a strong female lead blah blah blah, but you just can't reasonably expect me to push all my chips in on a movie based on a girl trying to keep her mother from permanently turning into a bear. That just doesn't resonate; I'm sure there are plenty of kids, mine included, who'd be totally cool with their mom having to go hide in the woods for the rest of her life. "Weekend at Bernie's" was more plausible.
Best Original Song
"Skyfall" because Adele threw some heavy shade at that pig Chris Brown at the Grammys a couple of weeks ago. In the absence of a specific category for that I'll give her Best Song. Also Daniel Craig is hot.
Best Director
I don't care. You tell me.
Best Picture
"Argo", because for some reason everyone's all up in arms about Ben Affleck getting snubbed in the Best Director category. The guy's best friends with Matt Damon and has Jennifer Garner for his own personal jungle gym, yet somehow we pity him. Sure. It's like that time I was dating Bradley Cooper and he played a really gross guy in "Silver Linings Playbook" so everyone felt totally sorry for me and gave me diamonds and bearer bonds.
The rest of the categories are too boring for me to miss afternoon carpool for, so there you go. Take it to Vegas. I would tell you that I'll let you know who wins the Piper Oscar pool this year, but I'll probably forget again. Wave at me in carpool.
In years like this (ie, when we haven't felt that it was worth spending a small fortune for a babysitter and actually going to a movie theater to act like cranky old people if someone else so much as sneezes) I approach the Oscar predictions much as I do the March Madness brackets; with bullshittery. Basketball is another area that I'm not exactly schooled in these days, so I tend to pick the team with the more attractive uniforms. If that doesn't do it for me - say, I'm picking between the equally atrociously clad Dayton and Wyoming - then I go with the location I'd most like to visit. Dayton, you're out; congratulations Cowboys! I hear Laramie's got great skiing this time of year! (Caveat: if Davidson makes it in, I'm picking them to go all the way even if they played the University of Hugh Jackman's Bedroom and shut your stupid face because I just am.) So, employing my highly scientific methods, here are a few of my choices:
Best Actor in a Leading Role
Bradley Cooper. He actually really repulsed me in the movie trailer for "Silver Linings Playbook" which means he must be giving the performance of his life because damn if I don't usually want him getting all up on this. Also I'm thinking that everyone must be sick and tired of that deep method shit that Daniel Day Lewis does. He's managed to really make a name for himself as a weird dude in an industry full of them. I mean, he completely unironically became a cobbler. So, no. Bradley, thank the Academy.
Best Actress in a Leading Role
I'm giving it to Jennifer Lawrence because I've always wanted a crossbow and she's all about archery in "The Hunger Games" which is close enough for me. (One year for Christmas I was certain, based on the size of one of my presents, that I was actually getting a crossbow, but it turned out it was only a guitar. That was fun for a few late night ass-wiggling George Michael "Faith" impersonations in college, but it was no crossbow. Damn my parents and their refusal to arm a teenager.) I don't want it to go to that Jessica Chastain because I'm still sick of hearing about aaaaaaallll that weeeeeiiight she had to gain for her role as a vastly-smaller-than-average-size-especially-if-you-live-in-Mississippi character in "The Help" last year. If she says one more word about it I'm going to throw my fried pickles (and that's not a euphimism) at her bony ass. Congratulations, Jennifer. Don't wear a confusing dress this time.
Best Actor in a Supporting Role
Alan Arkin because the 1979 version of "The In-Laws" is comedic gold and also features national treasure/stone cold fox Michael Lembeck, aka Kaptain Kool from the Krofft Comedy Hour. Plus it's just time for Dr. Sheldon Kornpett to get his due. That being said I won't punch you in the face if Philip Seymour Hoffman wins because I love him, although if he does then everyone who paid to sit through "Twister" should immediately file a class-action lawsuit.
Best Actress in a Supporting Role
Helen Hunt. That woman is an amazing actress, and as far as I'm concerned she could have begun and ended her career with her role as the girl in that one After School Special who snorted a bunch of Angel Dust and jumped out of a window and she'd still deserve this. That still scares the hell out of me. Anne Hathaway will not win because her performance does not count as such; anyone would cry like that if they had their hair harvested on camera. I could do that, and I can't act my way out of a paper bag. Yay you, Helen.
Best Animated Feature Film
Anything but "Brave". I saw this in a hotel room in Chattanooga and it just made me mad. I appreciate the concept and love the idea of a strong female lead blah blah blah, but you just can't reasonably expect me to push all my chips in on a movie based on a girl trying to keep her mother from permanently turning into a bear. That just doesn't resonate; I'm sure there are plenty of kids, mine included, who'd be totally cool with their mom having to go hide in the woods for the rest of her life. "Weekend at Bernie's" was more plausible.
Best Original Song
"Skyfall" because Adele threw some heavy shade at that pig Chris Brown at the Grammys a couple of weeks ago. In the absence of a specific category for that I'll give her Best Song. Also Daniel Craig is hot.
Best Director
I don't care. You tell me.
Best Picture
"Argo", because for some reason everyone's all up in arms about Ben Affleck getting snubbed in the Best Director category. The guy's best friends with Matt Damon and has Jennifer Garner for his own personal jungle gym, yet somehow we pity him. Sure. It's like that time I was dating Bradley Cooper and he played a really gross guy in "Silver Linings Playbook" so everyone felt totally sorry for me and gave me diamonds and bearer bonds.
The rest of the categories are too boring for me to miss afternoon carpool for, so there you go. Take it to Vegas. I would tell you that I'll let you know who wins the Piper Oscar pool this year, but I'll probably forget again. Wave at me in carpool.
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